A.SOUD 


THE 

EDOUIN 


BY 

ALFRED 
POST 
CARHART 


. 


MASOUD  THE  BEDOUIN 


MASOUD 
THE    BEDOUIN 

BY 

ALFREDA  POST  CARHART 


ILLUSTRATED       BY 
JESSIE        GILLESPIE 


NEW   YORK 
MISSIONARY  EDUCATION  MOVEMENT 
OF     THE     UNITED     STATES     AND     CANADA 

1915 


COPTBIGHT,  1915,    BT 

1UMIONART    EDUCATION   MOVEMENT   O*    THB 

UNITED   STATES   AMD   CANADA 


To  the  People  whom  I  Love 

Whose  Land  was  my  Birthplace 

Whose  Homes  were  ever  open  to  Me 

To  my  Friends  the  Syrians 

This  Little  Book 
Is  Affectionately  Inscribed 


345212 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Preface ix 

The  Way  of  Them  That  Dwell  in  Tents 

I    Masoud  the  Bedouin       ....       1 
II     Honor  in  the  Desert        .         .         .         .16 

III  The  Mourning  for  Sigr   .         .        .         .19 

Springs  in  a  Dry  Land 

IV  For  the  Sake  of  Sheffaka         ...     27 
V    The  Mark  of  the  Cross   ....    33 

VI    Beshara,  the  Bearer  of  Tidings       .         .51 

Glances  through  the  Lattice 

VII    A  Life  behind  a  Veil        ....    77 

VIII    The  Child  of  a  Vow        ....    95 

IX    Hajjeh  Fatmeh  the  Wise         .        .        .116 

Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains 

X    A  Lebanon  Rachel 123 

XI    A  Village  Iconoclast        .        .        .         .151 
XII    Hid  Treasure 161 

XIII  Nimr's  Kussis 179 

Where  East  and  West  Meet 

XIV  The  Night  at  Ibil 191 

XV    Luciyeh  of  the  Brave  Heart    .         .         .  202 

XVI    Transplanted  Children    .         .        .         .219 
v 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Bedouin  Sheikh 

• 

Frontispiece 

Tent  Dwellers     . 

Facing  Page        1 

Syrian  Woman 

IC 

27 

Mohammedan  Home 

It 

•                  • 

77 

Cedars  of  Lebanon     . 

u 

"       123 

Military  Hospital 

U 

•            • 

"       191 

Vll 


PREFACE 

Though  the  following  stories  are  presented 
as  fiction,  almost  all  the  incidents  portrayed 
have  actually  occurred  in  various  parts  of  Syr- 
ia. The  sayings  of  the  different  characters 
are  literal  translations  from  familiar  Arabic 
speech,  and  the  customs  depicted  are  those 
known  only  through  intimate  mingling  with 
that  ever-fascinating  life  of  the  East. 

It  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  there  is  no 
one  type  of  Syrian  life, — each  district,  each  re- 
ligious sect,  having  its  distinctive  features. 
Syria  is,  in  fact,  an  epitome  of  history,  pre- 
serving in  crystallized  form  in  its  various  re- 
gions the  life  and  customs  of  the  main  epochs 
of  past  time. 

The  earliest  form  of  half-civilized  life  is  the 
patriarchal  and  pastoral.  This  is  preserved  in 
its  most  romantic  form  among  the  Bedouins. 
They  use  goat's-hair  tents,  lead  their  flocks 
about,  and  entertain  strangers,  much  as  Abra- 
ham did,  and  indulge  in  the  same  raids  for 

ix 


Preface  x 

plunder  that  the  Amalekites  and  Midianites 
waged  of  old,  but  observing  always  a  code  of 
chivalry  and  honor  which  regulates  even  rob- 
bery and  murder. 

The  next  type  of  development  is  preserved 
in  the  agricultural  village  life  of  the  interior, 
of  the  same  class  as  the  life  depicted  in  the 
book  of  Judges.  A  group  of  flat-roofed,  win- 
dowless  abodes,  huddled  together  as  closely  as 
possible  for  safety,  is  the  home  of  a  simple, 
brave-hearted  community,  who  cultivate  their 
scanty  fields  and  reap  their  harvests  under  the 
risk  of  attack  from  desert  raids,  as  in  the  days 
of  Gideon,  while  the  women  carry  their  jars  to 
the  fountain  as  did  Rebecca  and  Rachel  at  a 
still  earlier  time. 

We  advance  a  step  higher  in  civilization  to 
the  cities  of  the  interior,  with  their  narrow, 
vaulted  streets,  crowded  market-places,  primi- 
tive courts  of  justice,  and  secluded  housetops. 
Not  very  different  were  Jerusalem  and  Sa- 
maria in  the  days  of  the  Kings. 

We  move  forward  further  in  the  march  of 
time,  passing  by  the  relics  of  ancient  empires 
— ruined  temples  and  hid  treasure — to  the 
event  which  focalizes  all  history,  making  this 


xi  Preface 

beautiful  Syria  unique  among  all  lands  as  the 
birthplace  of  Jesus.  Here  we  still  find  the  de- 
scendants of  the  early  Christian  Church.  Much 
has  been  added  since  to  the  simple  belief  of  the 
Fathers,  much  of  superstition  and  form,  but 
there  remains  the  foundation  upon  which  the 
faith  has  stood  in  face  of  persecution  these 
many  centuries. 

We  hurry  on  through  the  changes  of  history 
to  the  overwhelming  event  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
the  Moslem  invasion.  Here  the  religion  of 
the  Prophet  prevailed  against  a  vitiated  Chris- 
tianity and  here  it  still  holds  the  dominant 
power,  with  its  ceremonial  prayers,  its  fasts, 
its  vows,  and  its  system  of  social  seclusion 
which  has  influenced  all  other  types  of  life  in 
the  East. 

Lastly,  we  come  to  a  seeming  incongruity — 
the  twentieth  century  civilization — which  is 
pouring  its  good  and  its  evil  into  the  seacoast 
towns  and  thence  into  all  parts  of  the  land. 
The  railroad  and  carriage  roads  of  Lebanon 
now  compete  with  the  patient,  loaded  camel; 
well-built,  healthful  houses  are  fast  supplant- 
ing the  old  dingy  huts ;  the  peasant  woman  now 
fills  her  jar  from  a  finely  constructed  fountain 


Preface  xii 

of  carved  stone ;  and  the  city  shopkeeper  looks 
out  from  his  tiny  booth  upon  fashionable  equip- 
ages, extreme  Parisian  costumes,  and,  across 
the  street,  the  drinking  and  gambling  saloon. 

But  there  are  better  things  coming  into  Syr- 
ia from  the  lands  of  the  West.  The  life-giv- 
ing impulse  of  Christianity,  which  nearly  two 
thousand  years  ago  started  from  Syrian  shores, 
is  now  brought  back  by  the  missionaries  to  the 
land  of  its  birth  in  the  form  of  a  system  of 
education,  a  simple  worship,  and  above  all,  a 
Book.  All  over  the  Syria  of  to-day  are  vital- 
ized Christian  homes.  Simple  churches  and 
schools,  scattered  over  Lebanon,  have  become 
as  ensigns  upon  the  mountains;  while,  in  the 
city,  schools  of  higher  grade  and  a  great  col- 
lege strive  to  give  with  the  education  that  the 
ambitious  young  people  of  the  land  are  now 
determined  to  have,  the  dynamic  of  a  spiritual 
religion. 

Prominence  has  not,  however,  been  given  in 
these  pages  to  the  more  cultured  type  of  Syr- 
ian life,  as  it  is  similar  to  life  with  which  we 
are  familiar.  We  have  dwelt  rather  upon  the 
ruder  and  bolder  conditions  of  the  East,  upon 
those  customs  which  are   passing  away,   to 


xiii  Preface 

which  the  Syrians  of  the  future  will  look  back 
with  pride  as  the  steps  upon  which  they  rose 
to  the  higher  life. 

Many  of  the  incidents  of  the  wilder  life  of 
Bedouins  and  remote  villages  were  furnished 
by  Prof.  J.  Stewart  Crawford  of  the  Syrian 
Protestant  College  of  Beirut,  and  the  late 
Rev.  William  K.  Eddy,  the  beloved  mission- 
ary of  Sidon. 

The  author  wishes  to  express  hearty  thanks 
to  Miss  Jessie  Gillespie  Willing  for  her  labor 
of  love  in  drawing  the  pen  and  ink  illustrations. 

The  photographs  reproduced  were  in  the 
main  taken  by  Mons.  Bonfils  of  Beirut. 

Thanks  are  due  to  the  Independent,  Chris- 
tian Herald,  Congregationalist,  Observer,  In- 
terior,  Christian  Messenger,  Woman's  Presby- 
terian Board  and  Packer  Alumna,  for  the 
privilege  of  reprinting  those  of  the  stories  that 
were  first  published  by  them. 

Alfreda  Post  Carhaet 
Beirut,  Stria 

April  15,  1915. 


THE  WAY  OF  THEM  THAT 
DWELL  IN   TENTS 

I     Masoud  the  Bedouin 
II     Honor  in  the  Desert 
III     The  Mourning  for  Sigr 


MASOUD  THE 
BEDOUIN 


THE  level  rays  of  sunset  burned  red 
upon  the  huts  of  Banias,  the  modern 
Csesarea  Philippi.  Here  and  there  a 
low  beam  struggled  through  the  shrubbery,  and 
struck  like  a  reflection  of  past  glory  upon  the 
base  of  some  ancient  column  built  in  with  the 
irregular  stones  of  a  modern  wall.  It  was  sum- 
mer-time, and  the  population  had  crept  out  of 
their  unspeakably  dingy,  windowless  abodes, 
and  had  built  themselves  booths  of  leaves  upon 
the  flat  housetops.  The  village  appeared  to  be 
keeping  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles. 

Upon  one  of  the  roofs  stood  a  figure  that 
might  have  been  worked  in  bronze,  so  motion- 
less and  bold  it  stood  against  the  golden-red 
sky.     Two  ropelike  black  cords   bound  the 


The  Way  cf  Them  That  Dwell  in  Tents  2 

heavy  folds  of  head-drapery  over  a  brow  set 
with  some  deep  purpose.  The  hand  grasped 
one  of  the  daggers  at  the  belt.  The  man's  eyes 
followed  contemptuously  the  curvets  of  a 
horseman  upon  the  plain  below.  The  rider  had 
acquired  to  perfection  the  Oriental  ideal  of  ac- 
tion in  horsemanship.  He  leaned  forward  in 
his  saddle,  draperies  fluttering,  lance  uplifted, 
and  outstretched  elbows  flourishing  wildly,  in 
time  with  every  bound  of  the  horse.  The  man 
of  bronze  muttered  to  himself: 

"Fool!  Do  you  think  that  one  small  year 
can  wipe  your  treachery  from  my  memory? 
Take  your  pleasure  now!  You  will  never  ride 
beyond  these  hills." 

It  was  a  bitter  wrong  that  had  caused  such 
bitter  hatred.  A  year  before,  this  dark-faced 
Masoud  was  to  have  married  the  most  piquant, 
sparkling-eyed  brunette  in  the  region.  He  had 
courted  her  according  to  a  quaint  usage,  spend- 
ing an  evening  solemnly  smoking  the  argileh 
with  her  father,  and,  on  parting,  leaving  behind 
him,  as  though  by  accident,  his  "token."  The 
custom  is  well  understood :  if  the  father  wishes 
to  accept  the  suitor,  he  keeps  the  token;  if  not, 
he  returns  it.    In  Masoud's  case,  the  token  was 


Masoud  the  Bedouin 


a  small  wallet  of  antique  design.  Aniseh's 
father  had  picked  it  up  in  some  disdain; — 
should  he  give  his  bright-eyed  daughter  to  a 
roving  Bedouin? 

But  Aniseh  was  not  the  usual  meek  Oriental 
girl,  grateful  to  have  her  life  molded  for  her. 
She  put  her  two  hands  upon  the  token,  and 
poutingly  asked: 

"Why  return  it  ?  Don't  you  think  you  might 
hurt  his  feelings?" 

The  idea  seemed  too  ludicrous  to  allow  a 
proper  show  of  anger.  With  those  shy  brown 
eyes  raised  to  his,  the  father  could  not  bring 
himself  to  loosen  the  slender  fingers,  and  the 
wallet  was  never  returned. 

Masoud  became  almost  gentle  after  this,  un- 
til one  fated  day.  During  his  absence  on  a  raid, 
as  Aniseh  and  her  companions  were  gaily  car- 
rying their  jars  to  the  fountain,  they  were  at- 
tacked by  three  horsemen,  and  Aniseh  was 
snatched  away.  The  leader  was  a  Bedouin 
known  throughout  the  region  as  Khalil  the 
Cunning,  and  his  companions  were  his  two 
younger  brothers,  his  apprentices  in  deeds  of 
treachery. 

The  news  of  the  capture  reached  the  tent  of 


The  Way  of  Them  That  Dwell  in  Tents  4 

Masoud's  mother  like  a  message  of  doom  and 
she  waited  in  agony  at  the  thought  of  her  son's 
rage.  At  sunset,  two  days  later,  she  was 
crouching  at  the  door  of  the  hair-cloth  tent,  try- 
ing with  wrinkled,  tattooed  lips,  to  blow  a  char- 
coal fire  into  a  blaze.  She  half  raised  herself 
to  draw  breath,  when  she  caught  sight  of  his  set 
face,  more  terrible  than  the  rage  that  she  was 
expecting.  He  made  a  sign  for  her  to  keep 
silent,  and  asked, 

"Where  is  my  brother?" 

In  answer  a  young  man  appeared  at  the  tent 
door.    Masoud  turned  to  him: 

"If  you  value  the  family  honor,  go  to  Khalil 
and  say,  'Masoud  warns  you.' ' 

The  young  man  drew  together  the  finger- 
tips of  his  right  hand  with  a  singular  gesture 
implying  "Trust  me,"  and  disappeared  down 
the  darkening  valley. 

Masoud  spent  the  night  on  the  rocky  hill- 
side. His  devotion  to  the  ancient  Bedouin 
rules  of  honor  forbade  his  attacking  Khalil 
unwarned;  his  equal  firmness  in  the  Bedouin 
principles  of  revenge  made  certain  KhahTs 
doom. 

After  that  time  Masoud  lived  a  weird,  half- 


Masoud  the  Bedouin 


goblin  life,  now  in  Bashan,  now  in  Palmyra, 
appearing  suddenly,  vanishing  strangely, 
always  watching  for  a  trace  of  his  wary 
enemy. 

At  last  he  decided  upon  a  new  course.  It 
was  after  a  fruitless  attempt  to  trace  Khalil 
in  one  of  the  Lebanon  villages.  Masoud  was 
leaning  against  a  wall,  gazing  absently  upon 
the  ground,  when  his  eye  fell  upon  the  open 
lid  of  a  ground-spider's  den,  the  hairy  creature 
himself  dragging  his  prey  through  the  opening. 
The  fairy-built  door  closed  upon  them  both 
struggling.    Masoud's  eyes  gleamed  darkly. 

"You  have  taught  me  how,"  he  breathed 
through  clenched  teeth.  "I  shall  watch  for 
my  enemy  like  the  monster  of  the  ground;  he 
will  not  see  me  till  he  falls  into  my  clutches." 

And  thus  it  was  that  Masoud  had  been  lurk- 
ing among  the  huts  of  Banias,  rarely  seen  ex- 
cept by  the  old  man  whose  cattle  he  tended. 
The  ruse  was  a  wise  one.  Khalil,  ever  light- 
headed, had  ceased  to  realize  the  perseverance 
of  his  enemy  and  was  returning  at  last  to  in- 
spect some  of  his  flocks  and  herds  in  the  Her- 
mon  district. 

When  Masoud  had  assured  himself  who  the 


The  Way  of  Them  That  Dwell  in  Tents  6 

dashing  rider  was,  he  lost  no  time  in  reaching 
the  ground,  opening  the  rickety  door  of  the 
hut,  and  drawing  out  from  a  heap  of  brush- 
wood a  revolver  and  a  battle-ax,  which  he 
added  to  the  armament  in  his  belt.  A  shep- 
herd's coat  thrown  over  his  shoulders  covered 
all. 

He  went  first  to  the  market-place  and  ac- 
costed a  certain  horse  dealer  with  the  usual 
greetings,  receiving  the  usual  replies. 

"May  your  evening  be  fortunate." 

"May  yours  be  blessed." 

"How  is  your  health?" 

"Praise  be  to  Allah!" 

"I  hope  you  are  well." 

"Under  your  oversight." 

"Under  the  oversight  of  Allah." 

Then  came  the  real  question. 

"Who  is  riding  your  red  horse  down  in  the 
plain?" 

"What!  have  you  not  heard  that  Khalil  the 
Cunning  has  just  arrived?  His  horse  was 
nearly  dead,  so  he  is  trying  my  red  one.  He 
will  be  back  soon." 

Masoud  slipped  back  among  the  bystanders 
and  soon  stole  away  behind  a  wall. 


Masoud  the  Bedouin 


In  a  short  time  the  rider  appeared,  and  flung 
himself  down  from  the  saddle  with  much  clank- 
ing of  weapons.  He  threw  the  reins  to  the 
dealer,  exclaiming: 

"The  brute!  Curse  the  religion  of  his 
harim!  He  stumbles,  and  loses  wind,  and 
makes  no  speed  at  all." 

Masoud,  from  his  hiding-place,  smiled  grim- 
ly, as  he  thought  of  the  curvets  that  he  had 
watched.  Khalil  had  evidently  never  taken 
such  satisfaction  in  a  horse. 

Khalil  ran  his  hand  down  the  horse's  fet- 
locks, criticizing  him  at  every  point.  The 
dealer  loudly  attested  his  excellence  by  the 
virtue  of  his  own  religion,  by  his  father's,  his 
grandfather's,  and  his  great-grandfather's. 

"Let  me  see  the  pedigree  once  more,"  said 
Khalil. 

A  greasy  document  was  produced,  signed 
with  many  seals.  Khalil  did  not  question  the 
statements  on  the  paper,  as  he  had  done  with 
all  the  spoken  assertions  of  the  dealer.  It  is 
understood  that,  though  a  Bedouin  may  lie  on 
every  other  subject,  he  will  speak  the  truth  in 
two  matters:  the  blood  that  he  has  shed,  and 
the  pedigree  of  a  horse. 


The  Way  of  Them  That  Dwell  in  Tents  8 

Khalil  looked  at  the  dealer  keenly. 

"Now  between  you  and  me,  what  is  your 
last  price?" 

With  exquisite  deference,  the  dealer  replied : 

"What  need  have  we  to  consider  such  ques- 
tions? I  wish  the  Afendeh  Khalil  to  honor 
me  by  accepting  the  horse  as  a  gift." 

Khalil  answered,  "I  depend  for  all  the  good 
things  of  life  upon  your  bounty.  But  what 
is  your  price?" 

The  man  hesitated. 

"If  it  were  any  one  except  your  honorable 
presence,  I  should  be  disgracing  myself  by 
asking  less  than  sixty  Turkish  liras,  but  for  the 
sake  of  the  love  between  us,  I  will  ask  for  only 
fifty." 

"May  your  eyes  bury  my  heart,  you  dog!" 
said  Khalil,  "I'll  give  you  fifteen." 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  starve  my  family?  Do 
you  wish  me  to  cut  my  own  throat?  By  the 
religion  of  my  grandfather's  beard -" 

And  so  the  tiresome  haggling  went  on,  and 
the  two  prices  were  brought  gradually  nearer 
to  each  other.  But  the  meeting-place  was  not 
reached.  Khalil  started  toward  the  khan 
where  he  was  to  spend  the  night. 


Masoud  the  Bedouin 


"I  shall  start  before  light,  if  the  Almighty- 
wills,  to  meet  my  two  brothers  at  Ain  Balata. 
Follow  me  there  during  the  day,  and  let  us 
together  inspect  the  horse." 

A  flame  of  wild  joy,  kindled  in  Gehenna 
itself,  leaped  in  the  heart  of  the  dark  man  in 
the  shadow.  Like  the  famous  scorpions  of  the 
place,  he  crept  away  behind  the  walls  and  held 
his  sting  in  readiness. 

Long  before  dawn  he  lay  behind  a  rock  on 
the  road  to  Ain  Balata,  beside  a  sluggish  rill 
which  crept  into  a  swamp.  He  had  planned 
well.  After  about  two  hours  a  rider  picked  his 
way  down  the  path,  and  stopped  at  the  rill  to 
water  his  horse.  He  was  taking  off  the  bit, 
when  a  creature  like  a  fiend  seized  his  right 
arm  and  thrust  a  dagger  deep  into  his  side. 
The  frenzied  man  dragged  him  over  the  stones 
to  a  place  where  the  morass  suddenly  deep- 
ened. Masoud  braced  himself  upon  a  rock, 
.and  dragged  his  burden  into  the  ooze.  For 
one  minute  he  held  the  weakly  struggling  man 
above  the  surface. 

"Do  you  see  me?  Me?  Do  you  see  who  has 
brought  you  to  the  slime  where  you  belong?" 

Then  the  unrelenting  grasp  pressed  him 


The  Way  of  Them  That  Dwell  in  Tents  10 

down,  and  Khalil  sank  forever  into  his  miser- 
able grave. 

Nothing  was  now  too  reckless  for  Masoud. 
He  stumbled  his  way  back  to  the  rill  and  found 
KhahTs  horse  still  cropping  the  rare  bit  of 
grass  that  marks  the  path  of  a  Syrian  water- 
course. He  sprang  into  the  saddle,  and 
headed  for  Ain  Balata. 

"His  brothers  will  be  waiting  for  him,"  he 
said  to  himself.  He  was  not  disappointed. 
Before  he  reached  the  place,  the  two  young 
men  had  recognized  their  brother's  horse,  and 
had  started  on  foot  to  meet  him.  Masoud  took 
a  careful  aim  at  the  older  one,  and  fired.  The 
man  fell  instantly.  Masoud  dug  his  sharp- 
edged  stirrups  into  his  horse's  flanks  and  rode 
down  upon  the  younger  brother,  who  was  run- 
ning to  make  his  escape.  He  was  a  boy  of 
seventeen  and  carried  no  firearms;  he  could 
merely  plead  for  mercy. 

"I  shall  not  kill  you,"  said  Masoud,  "you 
were  too  young  to  know  what  you  were  doing. 
But  I  mean  to  keep  you  from  informing 
against  me." 

With  that  he  tore  off  part  of  the  boy's  head 
drapery  and  gagged  him;  then  stripped  him 


11  Masoud  the  Bedouin 

of  his  tightly  wound  money-girdle  and  bound 
him  with  it  to  a  secluded  rock. 

Masoud  turned  to  escape.  To  his  horror, 
the  other  victim  was  gone!  Strange,  in  that 
open  region,  and  a  wounded  man  at  that! 
Masoud  remounted  the  horse  and  hunted  all 
the  low  hills  about — in  vain.  None  but  a 
Bedouin  can  elude  a  Bedouin,  and  here 
Masoud  had  found  his  equal.  He  did  not  dis- 
cover the  snakelike  path  which  the  wounded 
man  took,  up  among  the  foot-hills,  around  the 
sweep  of  the  plain,  across  to  the  Banias  ra- 
vine, and  up  the  hillside  to  the  Crusaders' 
Castle.  He  did  not  see  the  poor  fellow,  almost 
spent,  creep  into  a  secret  passage  under  the 
ruins;  nor  did  he  know  when  this  brother  of 
KhaliPs,  in  darkness  and  alone,  breathed  his 
last.  Years  after,  a  traveler  of  more  than 
usual  curiosity  was  exploring  the  remoter  parts 
of  the  castle,  when  his  candle  flickered  upon 
the  murdered  man's  skeleton.  But  no  one  else 
ever  knew. 

Masoud  turned  back  in  a  rage  from  his  fruit- 
less search. 

"It  is  dangerous,"  he  thought,  "to  leave  the 
child  to  betray  me." 


The  Way  of  Them  That  Dwell  in  Tents  12 

He  retraced  his  steps  to  the  rock,  and  shot 
the  boy  through  the  heart. 

Years  passed,  during  which  Masoud  took 
refuge  first  with  one  tribe,  then  with  another, 
to  elude  the  avengers  of  blood  from  Khalil's 
tribe. 

One  evening  his  encampment  was  set  on  a 
small  table-land  high  on  Lebanon.  No  living 
beings  were  in  sight  except  a  herd  of  gazelles, 
that  sped  over  the  hilltops  before  the  outrid- 
ers were  in  range.  An  unsuspected  covey  of 
partridges  watched  the  newcomers  with  more 
assurance.  Their  sentinel  stood  above  them 
on  a  rock  that  blended  perfectly  with  his  own 
drab-colored  plumage,  and  eyed  the  riders  as 
they  picketed  their  horses.  Not  until  the  whole 
company  arrived  did  he  give  his  low  warning 
cry,  to  send  the  covey  scuttling  away  among 
the  rocks.  Partridges  are  quite  too  wary  to 
fly  in  danger.  The  wild  creatures  of  Syria,  the 
bears,  the  gazelles,  the  partridges,  know  well 
why  their  Creator  has  dressed  them  in  the 
subdued  tints  of  their  own  soil,  and  they  can 
hide  themselves  in  an  open  country  so  as  to 
escape  every  eye. 


13  Masoud  the  Bedouin 

But  the  camp  was  too  busy  to  think  of  game 
just  now.  The  patient  women  were  carrying 
burdens  and  setting  up  tents  under  the  super- 
vision of  their  lords.  They  must  also  prepare 
the  argilehs  for  their  husbands  to  smoke,  and 
hurry  with  the  supper;  it  was  all  done  with 
wonderful  quickness.  The  camp-fires  were 
soon  throwing  flashes  of  color  upon  the 
swarthy  figures  gathered  round.  One  by  one 
the  men  muffled  themselves  in  their  sheepskin 
coats,  and  went  to  sleep  on  the  ground.  No 
sound  remained  except  the  stamping  of  the 
horses,  as  they  tried  in  vain  to  keep  themselves 
warm  in  the  frosty  air. 

At  midnight,  another  company,  far  more 
silent  and  stealthy,  wound  its  way  up  the  hills, 
and  camped  in  the  neck  of  the  valley.  Masoud 
woke  before  dawn  and  started  at  the  sight. 
There  was  something  strangely  familiar  in  the 
group  of  low-spreading  black  tents,  recalling 
the  days  of  long  ago  when  he  had  grown  to 
know  them  so  well  as  the  home  of  Khalil. 
Masoud  lost  no  time  in  saddling  his  horse,  and 
riding  away  in  the  opposite  direction. 

He  made  his  way  safely  out  of  sight  and 
turned  down  a  valley  leading  to  another  group 


The  Way  of  Them  That  Dwell  in  Tents  14 

of  mountains.  He  had  to  dismount  and  lead 
his  horse  around  a  bad  bit  of  rock. 

"Thank  God,  that  is  over!"  and  he  started 
to  remount,  when  he  was  confronted  by  half  a 
dozen  horsemen. 

"You  are  ours  at  last,  you  dog!"  one  cried; 
and  they  bound  him  hand  and  foot. 

They  took  him  to  the  tent  of  Khalil's  father, 
and  the  sheikhs  of  the  tribe  were  called  to  hold 
the  trial.  Masoud  stood  silent,  as  the  group 
assembled. 

At  last  Khalil's  father  rose  and  chanted  in 
impromptu  meter  the  story  of  his  three  sons, 
his  only  children,  lost  in  one  day.  The  old  men 
responded  with  dreary  wails;  there  was  not  a 
dry  eye  among  them. 

Masoud  was  placed  in  the  midst  and  a  circle 
drawn  about  him  on  the  ground.  A  rod  was 
put  into  his  hand  and  the  formula  repeated 
for  him  to  swear: 

In  the  name  of  this  rod, 

And  Almighty  God, 

And  the  seal  that  for  Solomon,  David's  son,  stood, 

I  swear  I  am  innocent  of  this  blood. 

Masoud  began  to  speak  the  words,  but  his 
voice  trembled.    He  dropped  the  rod 


15  Masoud  the  Bedouin 

"I  cannot  swear ;  I  am  guilty." 

He  covered  his  face  and  a  deep  silence  fell 
upon  the  company. 

It  was  broken  by  the  sobs  of  KhaliFs  father, 
sobs  filled  with  the  loneliness  of  years.  His 
three  sons  were  gone  irrevocably.  Should  he 
add  to  their  loss  yet  another  life?  He  held 
out  his  hands,  and  spoke: 

"Young  man,  I  take  you  to  be  my  son  in 
the  place  of  my  three  lost  ones." 

Masoud  started  and  looked  from  one  to 
another.  The  hard  faces,  steeled  to  bloodshed 
and  death,  were  broken  with  weeping. 

"My  son,  do  you  not  believe  me?"  said  the 
old  man. 

Masoud  took  the  wrinkled,  outstretched 
hand  and  bent  his  head  reverently  over  it. 
One  by  one  the  elders  stole  away  and  the  father 
and  his  strange  son  remained  alone. 

"I  shall  never  leave  you,"  breathed  Masoud. 
And  he  kept  his  word.  It  became  a  proverb 
in  the  tribe : 

"He  loves  as  Masoud  loves  his  father." 


II 


HONOR   IN   THE   DESERT 


MILHEM,  Musbah,  and  Arif  were 
hungry.  Of  course,  they  had  no 
money  and  the  few  camels  which 
they  had  owned,  their  only  possession,  had 
been  killed  by  an  unusual  frost  on  the  desert. 
They  consulted  together;  there  was  but  one 
thing  to  do;  they  would  go  out  on  a  search 
for  plunder,  for  "what  Allah  might  send," 
they  said. 

They  begged  a  little  food  from  the  sheikh 
and  started  out.  It  was  a  dreary  tramp,  noth- 
ing but  yellow  clay  and  a  few  thorn-patches 
to  be  seen.  By  the  end  of  the  first  day,  Mil- 
hem  threw  himself  upon  the  ground.  "It  is 
better  to  rest,"  he  said,  "than  to  labor  for  that 
which  comes  not."    So  Musbah  and  Arif  went 

16 


17  Honor  in  the  Desert 

on  another  day  alone.  By  this  time  their 
food  was  exhausted  and  Musbah  became  dis- 
couraged. "You  may  go  on  by  yourself,"  he 
said. 

Arif  plodded  on  till  the  end  of  the  third 
day,  when  he  came  upon  a  drove  of  camels  in  a 
sheltered  valley;  the  keepers  were  asleep.  In 
the  midst  was  a  stuffed  camel-calf,  used  to 
keep  the  flock  together.  Arif  cut  the  bands 
by  which  the  camels  were  hobbled,  lifted  the 
stuffed  camel-calf  in  his  arms  and  started 
away,  the  whole  drove  silently  following. 
When  he  was  far  enough  off  from  the  camp 
to  feel  safe,  he  stopped  to  milk  the  camels  and 
refresh  himself;  then  he  traveled  on,  followed 
by  the  herd,  to  the  place  where  he  had  left 
Musbah.  His  companion  was  greatly  amazed 
to  see  his  booty. 

"To  Allah  be  the  praise!"  said  Arif. 

They  journeyed  on  merrily  together  till 
they  found  Milhem. 

"Get  up,  son  of  a  thousand  sluggards !  Are 
you  still  sleeping,  like  yeast?"  cried  Musbah. 
"See  what  Allah  has  sent  us!" 

The  three  returned  to  camp  together.  Then 
came  the  quarrel, — Musbah  and  Milhem  claim- 


The  Way  of  Them  That  Dwell  in  Tents  18 

ing  equal  shares  with  Arif  in  the  booty.  Be- 
ing unable  to  reach  a  decision,  they  went  to 
the  kadi,  the  judge. 

He  listened  to  them  solemnly,  then  after  a 
silence  spoke:  "You,  Arif,  the  true  plunderer, 
are  entitled  to  the  herd  as  your  lawful  capture. 
However,  you  shall  allow  Musbah,  who  went 
with  you  two  days,  to  choose  one  camel  for 
himself,  and  if  he  chooses  the  best  one,  it  will 
be  but  according  to  agreement.  You  your- 
self shall  choose  a  camel  for  Milhem,  who 
went  with  you  but  one  day,  and  if  you  choose 
the  worst  one,  he  will  have  nothing  to  answer. 
The  rest  of  the  herd  is  yours." 

The  three  men  started  away  satisfied. 

The  judge  called  them  back.  "Perhaps  you 
would  like  to  know  whose  the  camels  were  be- 
fore you  captured  them.  They  were  mine. 
But  Allah  forbid  that  I  should  claim  them 
back,  when  they  have  been  captured  accord- 
ing to  the  honorable  laws  of  plunder.  Allah 
grant  you  blessing  in  their  possession!" 


Ill 

THE 
MOURNING 
FOR    SIGR* 


THE  fame  of  Sigr,  the  Anezeh  Hero, 
had  spread  among  all  the  tribes  of  the 
desert.  Bedouin  maidens  sang  of  him 
at  their  feasts,  and  his  enemies  fled  at  the  men- 
tion of  his  name. 
Sang  the  maidens : 

Alone  standeth  Sigr,  the  Rock  of  the  Anezeh, 
In  battle,  in  plunder,  in  honor,  in  craft; 
The  palm-branches  envy  the  grace  of  his  form, 
The  storm-clouds  of  heaven  bend  above  him 
To  learn  more  of  power  and  of  majesty  grand. 

At  the  height  of  his  glory,  Sigr  gathered  his 
horsemen,  his  fifty  undaunted  ones,  and  they 
swept  through  the  desert  to  the  pasturing 
lands  of  their  rivals,  the  great  Beni  Bekr. 

*  After  the  dithyrambs  of  the  desert. 
19 


The  Way  of  Them  That  Dwell  in  Tents  20 

With  level  spears,  they  swooped  upon  the 
herdsmen,  capturing  from  them  what  they 
counted  their  great  glory,  their  flock  of  choice 
white  camels. 

Great  was  the  fury  of  the  Beni  Bekr,  who 
set  forth  two  hundred  strong  to  take  revenge. 
They  met  in  a  narrow  valley,  two  hundred 
opposed  to  fifty! 

Then  Sigr  rode  forth  in  the  presence  of 
all  and  cried  boldly: 

I  am  Sigr  the  hero, 

The  universe  is  my  war-horse, 

The  vault  of  heaven  my  saddle-bow. 

I  challenge  you,  warriors  of  the  Beni  Bekr, 

Come  fight  me  in  single  combat, 

I  will  feed  to  the  vultures  your  carcasses, 

Your  bones  to  the  wolves  of  the  desert! 

The  Beni  Bekr  reined  in  their  horses,  and 
stood  looking  from  one  to  the  other.  Then 
came  forth  from  among  them  Asad,  son  of 
Ali.  and  answered: 

I  scorn  your  boasting,  O  Sigr, 
'Tis  the  babble  of  an  infant, 
The  chirp  of  a  locust; 
What  is  Sigr  before  Asad, 
The  lion  of  the  Beni  Bekr ! 


21  The  Mourning  for  Sigr 

The  two  bands  of  warriors  pushed  back  on 
the  opposite  slopes  of  the  valley  and  left  the 
space  open  between  for  the  champions.  They 
took  their  places  one  at  each  end  of  the  val- 
ley, then  bending  forward  charged  on  one  an- 
other with  their  javelins.  The  horses  passed 
at  a  wild  gallop  and  Asad  of  the  Beni  Bekr 
lay  motionless  upon  the  ground.  In  rage, 
another  champion,  Jabir,  son  of  Amr,  came 
down  to  avenge  the  wrong;  but  he,  too,  was 
laid  low.  Warrior  followed  warrior,  none 
could  hold  out  against  Sigr  the  Hero.  The 
Beni  Bekr  could  bear  it  no  longer;  regardless 
of  all  rules  of  honor,  they  rushed  down  upon 
him  and  cut  him  to  pieces. 

The  news  of  his  death  swept  through  the 
desert  like  the  angry  sirocco  and  from  far  and 
near  came  the  mourners  to  mourn  at  his  tent. 
They  wept  that  he  died  in  the  height  of  his 
triumph,  they  wept  that  he  died  by  the  base- 
ness of  men  of  mean  spirit,  they  wept  that  he 
died  far  away  from  his  kindred,  with  none  of 
his  own  blood  to  show  him  their  last  respect. 

But  while  they  lamented,  the  messenger  sped 
on  his  journey,  two  days  through  the  fiery 
desert,  to  Sigr's  elder  sister,  Safah,  wife  of 


The  Way  of  Them  That  Dwell  in  Tents  22 

Dib  the  Wolf.  He  found  her,  all  unmindful, 
making  butter  in  her  goatskin  churn. 

"The  Lord  fulfil  to  you,"  he  said,  "the  days 
of  him  who  is  departed." 

Then  Safah  knew  and  loudly  did  she  wail, 
rending  her  long  flowing  robe  from  top  to 
hem  and  throwing  dust  upon  her  head. 

The  whole  camp  assembled  and  the  messen- 
ger chanted  the  praises  of  Sigr  the  dead. 

I  sing  of  Sigr,  the  pride  of  the  Anezeh, 

The  dawn  arose  only  to  publish  his  might. 

His  brow  was  his  bow  and  his  glance  the  arrow 

That  smote  with  dismay  the  heart  of  his  foe. 

Seven  pashas  sat  on  the  mat  at  his  feet 

Waiting  only  to  do  his  commands. 

Oh  seek  through  the  desert,  the  home  of  the  Arabs ; 

Not  one  will  be  found  who  is  worthy  to  serve 

Pouring  water  upon  Sigr's  hands. 

The  messenger  ceased,  and  the  company 
broke  into  mad  cries  of  grief  and  curses  on 
all  who  ever  had  named  the  name  of  the  Beni 
Bekr.  Only  one  sat  unmoved,  Dib  the  Wolf. 
His  wife  stood  before  him,  her  eyes  flashing 
fire. 

"I  must  go  and  wail  for  my  brother." 
But  what  cared  Dib  the  Wolf  for  Sigr,  as 


23  The  Mourning  for  Sigr 

long  as  his  own  wants  were  met?  He  dis- 
missed the  assembly  with  cursing  and 
wrath  and  called  to  his  wife,  "Bring  me  my 
argileh!" 

The  fire  did  not  die  from  her  eyes,  but  in 
silence  she  filled  the  argileh,  placed  upon  it 
with  her  bare  fingers  a  glowing  coal  from  the 
hearth,  and  presented  it  meekly  to  her  lord. 
Then  she  hasted  and  made  coffee  for  him,  and 
his  spirit  was  soothed,  and  he  slept. 

Then  Safah  rose  in  haste,  stealing  her  way 
between  the  kneeling  camels  of  the  camp,  till 
she  was  in  the  open  wilderness.  She  stayed  not 
nor  looked  back  till  a  day's  journey  lay  behind 
her.  Then  she  threw  herself  upon  the  ground 
to  sleep.  In  two  hours  she  rose  again,  and 
at  the  dawn  of  the  second  day  she  mourned 
with  the  women  in  the  tent  of  Sigr. 

But  in  the  meantime  another  messenger 
sped  on  his  way  to  the  north,  where  the 
younger  sister  lived,  Amneh,  wife  of  Za'al  of 
Aleppo.  Five  days  he  journeyed,  till  he  found 
her  at  the  tent  of  her  lord.  But  Za'al  had  a 
spirit  fiercer  even  than  that  of  Dib  the  Wolf. 
Not  for  naught  had  his  mother  called  him  by 
the  name  of  Za'al,  Anger! 


The  Way  of  Them  That  Dwell  in  Tents  24 

"Should  I  send  my  wife  five  days'  journey 
to  weep  for  an  Anezeh  hero?" 

And  the  messenger  fled,  not  daring  to  face 
his  displeasure. 

But  when  the  night  fell,  and  all  the  camp 
slept,  Amneh  arose.  She  took  an  earthenware 
bottle  of  water,  a  handful  of  dates  in  her  gir- 
dle. With  these  she  set  forth  for  a  five  days' 
journey  through  the  desert.  By  night  her 
guides  were  the  stars;  by  day,  the  bleached 
skeletons  of  the  camels  which  lay  with  out- 
stretched necks  along  the  caravan  route.  Hur- 
rying on  through  the  starlight,  she  heard  the 
laugh  of  the  hyena,  as  he  made  his  ungainly 
way  toward  her.  He  stopped  to  watch  her 
from  among  his  rocks  and  meditated  running 
against  her  and  throwing  her  down;  for  a 
hyena  will  not  attack  an  enemy  in  upright  posi- 
tion. But  there  was  something  dauntless  in 
the  bold  figure  of  the  woman  braving  her  way 
alone  through  the  night,  and  the  hyena  slunk 
away  to  seek  his  victims  among  the  fallen 
along  the  caravan  route. 

She  took  her  scanty  sleep  by  day,  when  the 
sun  burned  most  fiercely.  The  vulture  spied 
her  from  his  height  and  fancied  her  one  of  his 


25  The  Mourning  for  Sigr 

victims;  he  screamed  to  his  mates,  and  to- 
gether they  circled  about  her.  They  drew 
nearer  and  nearer,  and  their  necks  were  craned 
for  the  final  swoop  downward,  when  she  rose 
with  a  bound  and  bent  forward  again  upon 
her  hardy  task. 

Ten  days  had  the  mourners  lamented  for 
Sigr  when  the  tent  door  was  darkened  by  a 
bold,  gaunt  figure ;  it  was  Amneh,  wife  of  Za'al 
of  Aleppo.  Together  she  and  her  sister  Safah 
raised  their  arms  to  heaven,  and  beat  their 
breasts  for  the  fate  of  their  brother. 

Cried  Amneh: 

Would  that  the  heavens  were  my  scroll, 

The  cedar  of  Lebanon  my  pen, 

The  vast  ocean  my  ink-pot; 

Then  would  I  write  the  deeds  of  Sigr, 

Sigr  the  rock,  the  hero. 

And  Safah  answered : 

Tears  have  I  wept  for  thee,  O  my  brother, 
Till  they  roll  like  a  flood  about  me. 
Let  their  billows  flow  over  our  souls, 
Let  them  bear  us  together  afar, 
To  the  distant  abode  of  Sigr  our  brother. 

And  thus  was  the  mourning  accomplished, 
the  forty  days'  mourning  for  Sigr. 


s 


PRINGS   IN  A  DRY  LAND 


TV    For  the  Sake  of  She jf aha 

V     The  Mark  of  the  Cross 
VI    Beshara,  the  Bearer  of  Tidings 


IV 

FOR  THE  SAKE 
OF  SHEFFAKA 


THE  head  of  Abu-Fahad  was  bent  upon 
his  breast  as  he  rode.  Not  so  was  he 
accustomed  to  lead  his  Bedouin  spear- 
men on  their  raids  upon  the  hamlets  of  the 
plain.  His  blooded  mare,  with  dainty  fore 
feet,  picked  her  way  among  the  rolling  stones, 
arching  her  neck  to  feel  her  master's  guidance ; 
but  the  silver-mounted  reins  fell  limp  upon 
her  mane.  The  mind  of  Abu-Fahad  still 
lingered  at  the  village  camping-ground  which 
he  had  left;  the  open  space  was  still  before 
him,  the  ring  of  kneeling  camels  with  heads 
turned  to  the  center,  the  loosened  burdens  on 
the  ground,  the  shifting  group  of  Bedouin 
merchants,  bartering,  smoking,  or  spreading 

27 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  28 

out  their  prayer-rugs  to  the  south.  And  then 
appeared  the  Christian  preacher,  Murad  of 
Lebanon,  whose  custom  was  to  wander  in  and 
out  among  the  tribes.  Abu-Fahad  had  heard 
report  about  this  youth  with  earnest  face  and 
winning  speech,  but  he  had  never  met  him 
face  to  face  before. 

Murad's  eye  fell  on  the  prayer-rugs,  and  he 
spoke  respectfully :  "Yes,  truly  God  is  greater ; 
we  should  ever  turn  to  him  in  prayer." 

"His  name  be  honored/'  answered  Abu- 
Fahad.  "It  is  he  who  giveth  victory  to  the 
faithful  and  maketh  them  to  glory  over  all 
their  foes." 

"Have  you  never  known  the  greater  glory?" 
asked  Murad;  "the  glory  and  the  beauty  of 
Sheffaka,  Compassion?"  and  opening  his 
Book,  he  gave  his  message  in  eager  and  ap- 
pealing words;  man's  need  of  mercy  and  his 
holy  privilege  to  show  compassion  to  his  fellow 
man. 

And  now,  while  Abu-Fahad  rode  in  silence, 
wrapt  in  thought,  there  grew  within  him  a 
strange  desire,  unknown  till  now,  for  the  angel 
presence,  even  in  his  own  fierce  heart,  of  Shef- 
faka, Compassion. 


29  For  the  Sake  of  Sheffaha 

Thus  musing,  he  overtook  a  wayfarer,  plod- 
ding the  stony  road  on  foot. 

"Rest  be  to  you,"  he  said. 

"The  Lord  return  you  rest,"  answered  the 
traveler,  but  as  he  spoke  he  tightened  up  his 
girdle,  showing  his  dagger  in  its  sheath. 

"Have  no  fear,"  said  Abu-Fahad,  thinking 
how  readily  the  day  before  he  would  have 
called  upon  a  traveler  to  deliver  up  his  money- 
girdle  and  his  arms. 

They  traveled  on  in  friendliness  together 
for  many  hours.  At  last  they  came  to  a  small 
rill  trickling  beneath  a  rock. 

"Water  is  the  gift  of  God,"  said  the  walker; 
"let  us  stop." 

Abu-Fahad  alighted  from  his  horse,  loos- 
ened the  bridle  to  let  the  thirsty  creature  drink, 
and  then  the  two  men  rested  in  the  patch  of 
shade,  the  spicy  smell  of  mint  and  thyme  add- 
ing its  sweet  refreshment. 

"Bread  also  is  the  gift  of  God,"  said  Abu- 
Fahad,  and  loosening  his  tasseled  saddle-bags 
he  divided  with  the  stranger  the  food  that  he 
had  brought  for  two  days'  journey. 

"And  now  let  us  go  on,"  said  Abu-Fahad, 
"and  seeing  I  have  had  my  share  of  rest,  I  will 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  30 

change  places  with  you  for  a  while,  you  riding 
and  I  on  foot." 

"I  beg  forgiveness  of  the  Lord,"  exclaimed 
the  stranger.  "His  curse  would  be  on  me  for 
taking  such  a  privilege  from  one  above  me  in 
station  and  in  years." 

But  Abu-Fahad  pressed  him  and  he  yielded. 

As  one  is  carried  on  the  light  wings  of  a 
dream,  so  the  low-born  stranger  felt  himself 
borne  forward  by  the  fleet-footed  creature  of 
the  desert.  As  though  he  upheld  the  rainbow, 
great  was  his  exultation,  and  the  mad  pur- 
pose seized  him  to  ride  away  forever  and  leave 
his  benefactor  to  his  own  folly  in  trusting  to  a 
stranger. 

A  tightening  of  the  rein  was  all-sufficient, 
and  the  high-bred  animal  leaped  forward. 

"Hold!"  cried  the  astonished  owner. 

But  the  new  joy  of  gain  was  too  alluring. 

Contented  like  the  willow, 
Whose  roots  are  in  the  water, 

caroled  the  usurper  with  insulting  triumph. 

"Listen!"  cried  Abu-Fahad,  with  a  tone  of 
just  rebuke  which  forced  obedience.  "You 
have  my  mare,  I  do  not  ask  you  to  return  her, 


31  For  the  Sake  of  SheffaJca 

that  is  beyond  my  power.  I  have  but  one 
request.  For  the  sake  of  him  who  thus  en- 
riches you,  grant  it,  I  pray." 

The  stranger's  shamed  humanity  could  not 
refuse.     "I  grant  it." 

"This  is  my  request,"  said  Abu-Fahad. 
"Never,  by  the  life  which  Allah  gave  you, 
never  tell  how  you  obtained  your  mare." 

"That  is  not  likely,"  laughed  the  stranger, 
trying  to  cover  his  confusion  under  a  garb  of 
insolence.  "But  what  reason  have  you  for 
such  a  strange  request?" 

Abu-Fahad  answered  gravely,  "Because 
then  you  would  be  a  murderer." 

"A  murderer!"  cried  the  stranger. 

"Yes,"  repeated  Abu-Fahad,  "you  would 
kill  Sheffaka,  Compassion,  in  the  hearts  of 
men.  If  it  were  told  that  Abu-Fahad  was  de- 
ceived, lending  his  mare  in  pity  to  a  stranger, 
then  nevermore  would  any  rider  lend  his  mare 
to  help  a  traveler  on." 

The  traitor,  crushed  with  guilt,  slipped  from 
the  saddle,  covering  Abu-Fahad's  hands  and 
feet  with  kisses.  "Oh,  let  me  kneel  on  burning 
coals  and  beg  God  for  the  sake  of  Sheffaka  to 
forgive  my  sin." 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  32 

Eagerly  he  forced  Abu-Fahad  back  into  the 
saddle,  beseeching  him  to  leave  him  in  his 
shame. 

And  Abu-Fahad  rode  away,  again  absorbed 
in  thought,  but  as  he  turned  upon  the  rocky 
path,  he  raised  his  head  for  one  last  backward 
look  toward  the  stranger,  and  there  he  saw  him 
kneeling  on  the  ground,  his  face  bent  low  and 
buried  in  his  hands. 


THE  MARK  OF 
THE  CROSS 


THE  Bedouin  encampment  of  Sheikh 
Selim  presented  its  usual  noonday  ap- 
pearance of  listlessness  and  neglect. 
Most  of  the  men  were  away  with  the  herds, 
and  the  few  loungers  left  behind  were  smok- 
ing in  silence  or  lying  asleep  in  the  sun.  The 
women  were  grouped  together  here  and  there, 
making  butter  or  rocking  their  babies,  both  by 
the  same  contrivance,  a  goatskin  hung  between 
three  poles  and  shaken  violently  back  and 
forth. 

Among  the  groups  trudged  a  forlorn  little 
figure  carrying  bundles  of  brushwood  to  the 
various  tents.    No  one  noticed  her  large-eyed, 

S3 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  34s 

wistful  face.  Plainly  the  child  was  by  long 
usage  the  little  camp  drudge. 

After  finishing  her  task  without  appearing 
to  seek  or  expect  commendation,  she  slung 
some  goatskin  water-bottles  over  the  back  of  a 
tiny  donkey  and  drove  him  from  the  camp. 
She  found  it  discouraging  work  getting  him 
past  alluring  clumps  of  dry  thistles,  which  he 
tackled  with  a  determination  worthy  of  a  bet- 
ter feast,  nibbling  down  the  sharp  points  be- 
fore attempting  the  tough  spiny  whole.  Lit- 
tle Najla  belabored  him  lustily,  with  many 
imprecations  upon  his  kind,  and  she  was  pant- 
ing for  breath  when  she  brought  him  at  last 
to  a  sluggish  rill  on  the  edge  of  the  desert. 

The  footprints  of  many  animals  had  turned 
the  muddy  water-bed  into  a  sort  of  morass, 
and  into  this  ooze  she  drove  her  donkey,  fol- 
lowing him  with  her  bare  feet.  With  the  un- 
concern of  long  habit  she  rilled  the  bottles  with 
the  muddy  water  which  the  animals  had  stirred 
up,  and  started  the  donkey  up  the  bank  by  a 
loud"Hanghk!" 

But  here  her  energy  seemed  to  leave  her  and 
she  gave  way  to  the  melancholy  which  had  be- 
come her  deepest  feeling.    She  crouched  upon 


35  The  Mark  of  the  Cross 

the  bank,  her  chin  upon  her  knees,  staring  va- 
cantly into  the  slimy  water. 

"O  Allah!  why  have  you  cursed  me?" 

She  drew  back  the  loose  drapery  of  her 
sleeve  and  moodily  studied  the  tattooing  on  her 
arm.  It  was  the  usual  indigo  stain  that  the 
Bedouins  employ,  but  the  figures  were  strange, 
to  Najla  without  meaning;  only  one  stood  out 
distinctly,  large  and  dark  and  seeming  to  over- 
shadow all  the  others,  the  figure  of  a  cross. 

She  wet  her  left  hand  in  the  water  and  me- 
chanically rubbed  the  markings. 

"If  they  would  only  wash  out,  I  might  be 
free  from  the  curse."  She  held  her  arm  out 
at  full  length.  "There  is  nothing  beautiful 
in  it;  if  it  were  only  marked  like  the  arm  of 
the  sheikh's  daughter,  with  seven  spreading 
palm-trees!" 

Najla  was  suddenly  startled  by  a  rustling  in 
the  scraggy  bushes  at  her  side.  She  looked 
up  into  a  face  that  frightened  her  with  its  wild 
eagerness. 

"Where  did  you  get  those  marks?"  asked  the 
stranger  hoarsely. 

Najla  pulled  down  her  sleeve  in  shame,  too 
confused  to  answer. 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  36 

"Is  your  name  Najla?"  asked  the  young 
man  again. 

"How  did  you  know?"  exclaimed  Najla  in 
large-eyed  wonder. 

"Look  here!"  he  cried,  and  pulling  up  his 
own  sleeve,  he  revealed  to  Najla's  astonished 
gaze  an  arm  marked  with  the  same  figures  as 
hers. 

"Don't  you  remember  your  brother  Faris?" 
he  asked.  "Think,  when  you  were  a  little,  lit- 
tle girl!" 

"When  my  mother  was  alive?  Yes,  I  had 
forgotten  all  about  it;  he  used  to  carry  me 
on  his  back." 

"Yes,  and  you  used  to  run  about  with  silver 
anklets  on  your  feet,  with  bells  on  them,  and 
they  tinkled  wherever  you  went.  Does  this 
help  you  to  remember?"  and  Faris  pulled  out 
from  his  bosom  a  child's  anklet  such  as  he  had 
described. 

Najla  grasped  it.  "Oh  how  wonderful!  I 
remember  it  perfectly,  and  they  took  the 
other  away  from  me  and  beat  me  for  losing 
this." 

"Poor  little  Najla!"  said  Faris,  taking  both 
her  hands,  "how  cruel  it  was  for  me  to  run 


37  The  Mark  of  the  Cross 

away  from  you  after  our  parents  died;  but  I 
meant  even  then  in  my  folly  to  come  back 
for  you  sometime,  and  I  took  the  anklet  away 
to  prove  that  you  belonged  to  me." 

"Where  did  you  go?"  asked  Najla. 

"It's  a  wonder  that  I  ever  got  anywhere," 
said  Faris,  "you  know  I  was  only  eight  years 
old.  I  wandered  about  almost  perishing  for 
food  and  water.  One  time,  I  came  upon  a 
wolf -trail,  seven  parallel  tracks ;  you  know  the 
creatures  travel  abreast,  because  if  one  of  them 
should  fall,  those  behind  would  spring  upon 
him  and  devour  him." 

"Horrible!"  exclaimed  Najla.  "What  if 
they  found  you!" 

"They  would  have  found  me  that  night," 
said  Faris,  "but  I  was  picked  up  by  some 
cameleers,  who  took  me  a  long  journey  to  a 
town.  They  left  me  in  a  mission  school  kept 
by  a  foreigner.  The  gentleman  was  a  doctor 
and  people  came  to  him  from  all  the  country 
round  to  be  cured.  At  first  I  said  to  myself, 
'What  a  wicked  man  he  must  have  been  that 
he  needs  now  to  earn  all  this  merit  to  atone  for 
his  past!'  But  I  learned  afterward  how  mis- 
taken I  was.    Do  you  know  why  he  did  it?" 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land 


Faris  again  eagerly  caught  his  sister's  hand. 
"It  was  because  of  the  story  on  your  arm!" 

Najla  looked  aghast  with  amazement. 
"You  are  mad,  my  brother;  what  do  you 
mean?" 

"Oh,  it's  a  beautiful  story,"  Faris  continued. 
"My  teacher's  wife  used  to  seat  me  on  a  little 
chair  beside  her  and  lay  her  soft  hand  on  my 
arm,  pointing  out  the  different  figures  and 
telling  me  about  them." 

"What!  have  these  marks  a  meaning?"  ex- 
claimed Najla. 

"Look!"  said  Faris,  holding  her  wrist.  "This 
cross  is  the  center  of  all,  and  the  long  figure 
beside  it  is  a  ladder,  and  here  is  a  hammer, 
with  three  nails,  and  a  sponge  on  the  end  of  a 
staff,  and  this  above  is  a  crown; — oh,  Najla, 
it  was  a  crown  of  thorns." 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Najla. 

"Of  course  not,  poor  little  sister,"  said  Faris, 
"but  I  will  tell  you  about  it,  over  and  over, 
till  you  love  it  better  than  anything  else  in 
the  world.  Don't  you  remember  when  our 
mother  used  to  tell  it?" 

"No,"  said  Najla.     "Did  she  know  it?" 

"Why,  Najla,"  said  Faris,  "our  mother  was 


39  The  Mark  of  the  Cross 

a  Christian  girl  and  our  father  carried  her 
away  from  her  village  home  and  made  her  his 
wife;  you  can't  remember  how  she  used  to 
weep  for  her  own  people.  She  would  talk  to 
me  about  it,  small  as  I  was.  She  was  so  afraid 
that  we  children  would  grow  up  without  know- 
ing about  the  cross  that  she  tattooed  the  story 
upon  our  arms,  believing  that  sometime  some 
one  would  tell  us  what  it  meant." 

"But  a  Christian  is  a  base,  mean  thing," 
said  Najla,  still  perplexed.  "I  suppose  that  is 
why  the  tribe  all  curse  me." 

"Little  sister,"  said  Faris,  "I  am  going  to 
take  you  away  from  all  that,  away  over  the 
Black  River  to  the  land  of  the  Christians." 

"The  Black  River!"  gasped  Najla.  "The 
jinn  would  catch  us!" 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  asked  Faris. 

Najla  lowered  her  voice,  her  black  eyes  di- 
lated with  horror.  "Don't  you  know  how 
Suleiman,  the  father  of  our  tribe,  went  to  a 
wise  woman  to  find  a  cure  for  the  illness  of 
his  wife?  And  she  gave  him  a  drink  that 
showed  him  his  wife's  heart,  and  there  he  saw 
a  horrible  jinn  crouched  upon  it  pressing  out 
the  life!     Then,  by  the  power  that  the  wise 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  40 

woman  gave  him,  he  exorcised  the  demon  and 
banished  him  into  the  Black  River,  where  he  is 
imprisoned  to  this  day,  waiting  for  any  mem- 
ber of  our  tribe  to  cross  the  stream,  that  he  may 
catch  him  and  devour  him!" 

Paris  laughed  gaily.  "Najla,  there  are  no 
such  things  as  jinn.  Look  at  me!  I  have 
crossed  that  river  twice!" 

Najla  gazed  at  him  stupefied.  "Perhaps 
you  have  a  charm." 

A  sudden  bright  smile  lighted  Faris'  face. 

"Yes,  I  have,  it  is  a  beautiful  promise  that 
God  has  sent  us.  He  says,  'when  thou  passest 
through  the  waters,  I  will  be  with  thee'." 

Najla  was  incredulous.  "Allah  rules  the 
Adamies,*  but  will  the  jinn  obey  him?  No, 
by  the  sheikh's  tent  pole,  I  cannot  go." 

Paris  looked  at  her  in  perplexity.  "How 
shall  I  make  you  understand?  Won't  you  be- 
lieve it?  You  are  God's  child;  you  have  his 
marks  upon  your  arm;  no  jinn,  if  there  were 
such  things,  would  have  power  over  you." 

Najla's  eyes  blazed  with  a  new  light.  "Do 
you  mean  that  when  the  jinn  saw  the  holy 
marks  on  my  arm,  he  would  be  afraid?" 

*  Children  of  Adam. 


41  The  Mark  of  the  Cross 

"Yes,"  said  Faris  gently,  "if  you  wish  to 
think  of  it  that  way ;  you  will  understand  better 
by  and  by." 

Najla  clasped  her  hands,  her  lips  quivered 
and  the  eyes  that  she  raised  to  Faris'  face 
were  glistening  with  mingled  fear  and  trust. 
"My  brother,  I  will  go  with  you,  if  it  is  to  life 
or  death." 

Faris  took  her  hands  in  his.  "Let  us  go  at 
once;  my  horse  is  here  and  we  can  gallop  away 
before  any  one  sees  us." 

Najla's  serious  face  broke  into  a  smile  of 
amused  compassion.  "How  innocent  you  are! 
We  might  as  well  hang  to  the  ropes  of  the 
wind!  The  Bedouins  would  track  us  before 
we  had  found  our  road." 

"Then  what  can  we  do?"  asked  Faris. 

Najla  thought  a  while.  "In  the  first  place, 
we  must  give  no  suspicion  that  I  am  with  you, 
and  then  we  must  let  them  hunt  a  while  before 
there  is  any  chance  of  finding  us." 

"It  seems  to  me  you  are  requiring  impossi- 
bilities," said  Faris. 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Najla,  warming  with  her 
plan.  "You  might  go  as  a  guest  to  the  Suleib 
camp   over  beyond  those  knolls   four  hours 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  '4t% 

away.  I  shall  return  to  our  camp; — and  a 
glorious  greeting  they  will  give  me  too,  after 
all  this  delay!  In  the  night,  I  shall  steal  away 
over  the  rocks;  they  show  no  footprints!  I 
know  of  an  ancient  cistern  over  there,  an  hour 
away,  where  I  can  hide  for  three  days,  while 
the  tribe  tire  themselves  out  hunting  the  high- 
roads. By  that  time,  they  will  think  I  have 
been  eaten  by  wolves  and  will  give  up  the 
search.  It  will  then  be  safe  for  you  to  meet  me 
with  your  horse." 

"You  could  beat  the  Sheitan!"  exclaimed 
Faris  admiringly.  Then  a  new  thought  struck 
him.  "What  will  you  do  for  food  those  three 
days?" 

"I  can  live  on  very  little,"  she  answered 
meaningly.  "We  Bedouins  keep  alive  because 
even  death  is  so  scarce!" 

They  kissed  each  other  solemnly  and  parted. 

"For  three  days  or  forever!"  said  Faris. 


Najla  drove  her  donkey  into  camp  under  a 
fire  of  imprecations. 
"Your  life  be  cut  off!" 
"Your  light  be  put  out !" 


43  The  Mark  of  the  Cross 

And  as  a  climax,  "Allah  send  you  a  hus- 
band to  beat  you  twice  a  day!" 

But  she  went  on  with  her  work  apparently 
indifferent,  and  in  the  night  fled  with  swift 
and  noiseless  footsteps  over  the  rocks. 

The  ancient  rain-water  cistern  which  she  had 
chosen  made  a  good  hiding-place,  its  narrow 
mouth  being  overgrown  with  bushes,  which 
quite  concealed  the  large  pear-shaped  chamber 
below.  Najla  pulled  aside  a  bush  and  peered 
down  into  the  inky  blackness,  shuddering, 
knowing  that  she  could  never  climb  out  of  such 
a  place  alone.  It  took  all  her  courage  to  let 
herself  down  over  the  edge.  She  dropped 
upon  the  dry  stony  bottom  unhurt,  but  shiver- 
ing with  terror.  The  darkness  seemed  to  close 
in  upon  her,  unbroken  save  by  the  glimmer  of 
a  few  stars  shining  through  the  bushes  over- 
head. She  cowered  upon  the  floor  where  she 
had  dropped,  not  daring  to  touch  the  unseen 
walls  of  the  place,  which  her  overwrought  mind 
filled  with  venomous  creatures.  Alone!  alone! 
The  great  world  stretching  above  her  was  now 
hopelessly  out  of  reach.  What  if  Faris  should 
never  come ! 

Daylight  came  at  last  as  an  intense  relief, 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  44« 

showing  the  cistern  walls  to  be  but  harmless 
rock  and  old  plaster,  and  she  was  glad  now 
to  lean  against  them,  to  avoid  being  seen  from 
above.  All  day  her  ears  were  straining  for 
the  sound  of  footsteps,  but  only  the  silence 
answered  her.  She  used  her  scant  supply  of 
food  and  the  water  in  her  small  earthen  bottle 
as  frugally  as  possible,  but  the  time  was  long 
and  soon  there  was  nothing  left  but  frantic 
thirst  and  feverish  visions  of  Bedouins  pur- 
suing from  behind  and  jinn  starting  up  in  the 
river  before  her. 

In  the  meantime  Faris  had  made  his  way 
toward  the  Suleib  camp.  As  he  approached 
it,  he  was  overtaken  by  a  man  riding  a  large 
white  ass,  and  Faris  saw  by  the  gazelle-skin 
tunic  which  he  wore  that  he  was  one  of  the 
Suleibs. 

"I  am  your  dakhU,  your  suppliant,"  Faris 
said. 

"The  dakhil  is  sent  by  God,"  answered  the 
Suleib,  "come  with  me  to  the  camp." 

Faris  obeyed  gladly,  but  with  difficulty  kept 
his  horse  up  with  the  rapid  pace  of  the  ass. 
His  companion  looked  back  at  him  with  a 
complacent  smile. 


45  The  Mark  of  the  Cross 

"When  the  other  tribes  degraded  us  from 
using  horses,"  he  said,  "they  did  not  foresee 
that  we  should  outstrip  them  with  our  humble 
asses,  but  so  it  was  decreed." 

They  were  now  at  the  camp,  a  forlorn  group 
of  goatskin  shelters,  hardly  to  be  dignified  as 
tents.  Faris  knew  that  the  Suleibs  were  the 
poorest  of  all  the  tribes,  but  for  that  reason 
at  war  with  none,  and  so  the  more  likely  to 
protect  him. 

He  was  met  with  kindness  and  taken  to  a 
tent,  where  the  supper  of  dried  gazelle-meat 
was  placed  before  him. 

"We  serve  you  with  the  food  of  our  people," 
said  the  sheikh.  "Our  hunters,  with  their  ga- 
zelle-skin robes,  can  track  down  the  herds 
without  frightening  them.  Allah,  who  has  de- 
prived us  of  flocks,  has  thus  given  us  a  recom- 
pense." 

"His  name  be  exalted,"  said  Faris. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  the  sheikh,  as  Faris 
reached  out  his  hand.  "Is  that  a  charm 
branded  on  your  wrist?" 

Faris  flushed,  he  had  not  meant  thus  to 
reveal  himself.  "My  secrets  are  in  your 
hands,"  he  said. 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  46 

"And  will  they  not  be  held  sacred?"  an- 
swered the  sheikh  with  wrath.  "W Allah!  let 
the  Arabs  despise  us  as  they  may,  never  would 
a  Suleib  reveal  the  secrets  of  his  dakhil." 

"Then  I  will  tell  you  about  it,"  said  Faris. 
"It  belongs  to  you  as  much  as  to  me." 

The  dusky  group  listened  in  rapt  attention 
while  Faris  told  them  the  story  of  the  cross. 

"That  sounds  to  me,"  said  one,  who  had  seen 
something  of  the  towns,  "like  the  cursed  re- 
ligion of  the  Niazarenes." 

"Call  no  man's  religion  cursed,"  said  Faris, 
"until  you  know  all  about  it;  and  least  of  all 
curse  the  Holy  One  who  died  upon  the  cross ; 
such  curses  only  return  upon  him  who  utters 
them." 

"The  lad  is  right,"  said  the  sheikh.  "None 
but  a  holy  man  would  have  given  himself  for 
others." 

As  Faris  was  leaving  the  tent,  a  young  man 
plucked  him  by  the  sleeve.  "Tell  me  more," 
he  said,  "about  that  wonderful  story.  Do  you 
know,"  he  added  lowering  his  voice,  "that 
some  say  our  Suleib  tribe  was  originally 
Christian,  that  they  were  named  for  the  cross, 
the  salib;  and  in  olden  times  the  men  of  our 


47  The  Mark  of  the  Cross 

tribe  all  had  on  their  shoulders  the  same  mark 
of  the  cross  that  you  have  on  your  arm." 

Before  sunrise  the  next  morning,  Faris 
heard  angry  voices  outside  his  tent. 

"You  are  sheltering  a  vagabond  townsman, 
a  low,  contemptible  beast,  a  tiller  of  the 
ground.    Fry  his  heart  in  his  blood!" 

"But  what  proof  have  you  that  he  stole  the 
girl?"  asked  Faris'  host. 

"Proof  enough!"  with  an  oath.  "We  found 
her  cursed  footsteps  on  the  bank,  some  above 
and  some  below  his,  showing  they  were  there 
together.  We  know  that  he  is  a  townsman  by 
the  fashion  of  his  shoes,  and  young,  by  the 
firmness  of  his  tread ;  and  that  he  came  to  you, 
his  horse's  footprints  testify  all  the  way.  The 
inference  is  clear,  he  has  brought  her  here 
to  you!" 

"At  what  hour  did  you  say  the  girl  disap- 
peared?" asked  the  Suleib  sheikh. 

"She  was  with  us  till  midnight,"  was  the 
answer.  "She  must  have  escaped  before 
dawn." 

The  Suleib  sheikh  answered  exultantly,  "I 
can  prove  to  you  that  our  guest  arrived  here 
at  sunset,  hours  before  the  girl  escaped,  her 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  48 

flight  has  nothing  to  do  with  him.  Come  this 
way  and  look  at  his  horse  and  tell  me  if  he 
has  just  come  in  from  a  four  hours'  journey? 
Feel  his  muscles,  you  can  see  that  he  has  rested 
all  night;  look  at  the  mud  on  his  feet,  that  is 
not  fresh  mud!  And  now  come  look  at  the 
hoof-prints;  they  are  already  blown  over  with 
dust,  surely  no  man  with  the  keenness  of  the 
Bedouin  could  say  those  marks  were  less  than 
twelve  hours  old!" 

The  Bedouin  examined  the  marks  carefully, 
biting  his  lips  with  annoyance,  then  bent  down 
and  smelled  the  hoof-print.  "Yes,  the  odor 
is  gone,"  he  said.    "The  truth  is  with  you." 

He  left  disappointed,  and  Faris  was  undis- 
turbed for  the  remainder  of  his  time. 

On  the  third  day  he  said  good-by  to  the 
Suleibs  and  started  off  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion from  his  destination.  When  he  was  well 
out  of  sight,  he  took  a  roundabout  track  and 
reached  the  old  cistern  by  nightfall.  No  one 
was  visible.  He  eagerly  pulled  aside  the 
bushes  and  called  down. 

"Niajla,  little  sister,  are  you  there?" 

"Faris!"  answered  a  weak  choking  voice 
from  the  darkness. 


The  Mark  of  the  Cross 


Faris  quickly  unwound  his  girdle,  and,  let- 
ting down  one  end,  gently  drew  Najla  up. 
The  exhausted  child  threw  herself  upon  his 
neck  in  tears.  He  soothed  her  with  awkward 
tenderness. 

"Drink  this  leben,"  *  he  said,  holding  a  small 
leather  bottle  to  her  lips.  "There!  You  can 
do  anything  now!" 

He  swung  her  up  on  the  saddle  behind  him 
and  they  were  off  at  last. 

The  journey  was  one  of  many  days  in  a 
burning  wilderness,  often  without  food  or 
water.  What  saved  them  more  than  once 
was  Najla's  surreptitious  milking  of  the 
goats! 

At  last  Faris  pointed  out  a  line  of  green  in 
the  distance.    "There  is  the  Black  River!" 

Najla  grasped  his  arm  tightly;  "But  the 
jinn  is  there!    Oh  brother,  I  cannot  cross!" 

Just  then  a  gun-shot  sounded  behind  them. 
They  looked  back  in  terror  and  saw  the 
Bedouins  in  hot  pursuit. 

"They  have  tracked  us!"  gasped  Najla. 

"God  must  decide  it!"  breathed  Faris,  bend- 

*  Milk  artificially  soured ;  a  common  article  of  diet 
with  the  Arabs. 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  50 

ing  forward  and  putting  his  spurs  into  his 
horse. 

The  creature  bounded  ahead  to  the  utmost 
of  his  jaded  strength,  while  the  shots  continued 
from  behind.  The  two  were  now  close  upon 
the  stream.  Najla,  doubly  terrified,  clung  to 
her  brother. 

"Remember  you  are  God's  child,"  he  said. 

She  buried  her  face  upon  her  brother's 
shoulder  and  lifted  her  bare  right  arm,  with 
the  cross  upon  it,  above  her  head,  while  the 
horse  dashed  through  the  shallow  stream  and 
struggled  up  the  opposite  bank. 

"We  are  safe!"  cried  Faris. 

They  hurried  up  the  farther  bank  as  the 
baffled  pursuers  reached  the  stream  and 
stopped. 

"They  will  not  follow  us,"  cried  Najla. 
"They  have  no  cross  to  protect  them." 

The  Bedouins  turned  back  in  rage,  and 
Paris  and  Najla  rode  on  to  the  new  life. 


VI 

BESHARA,  THE 

BEARER  OF 

TIDINGS 


A  RIDER  picked  his  way  along  the 
edge  of  the  Syrian  desert.  An  an- 
achronism he  might  have  seemed,  a 
son  of  the  East  and  the  West  alike,  his  mat- 
ter-of-fact European  dress  relieved  by  the 
white  traveling  robe  over  his  shoulders,  and 
the  lingering  touch  of  Orientalism,  the  red 
fez,  which  served  well  to  set  off  his  handsome 
dark  features  and  thoughtful  brow. 

Beshara's  mind  surged  back  over  a  multi- 
tude of  far-away  recollections  as  he  rode. 
Could  it  be  that  he  was  the  same  eager  student 
who  went  to  Beirut  to  college?  The  memory 
made  him  heart-sick. 

51 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  52 

Only  a  year  before  he  had  grasped  in  tri- 
umph his  medical  diploma,  and  had  gone  forth 
to  be  a  man  of  power  in  his  country.  He  had 
settled  in  a  seaport  city,  where  foreign  customs 
were  growing.  "There  will  be  a  demand  for 
doctors  there,"  he  thought.  But  so,  alas! 
thought  others  of  his  kind,  and  as  the  year 
wore  by  Beshara  in  bitterness  found  himself 
without  employment. 

Now  in  desperation  he  must  return  to  his 
far-away  inland  home. 

He  rode  on  gloomily,  absent-mindedly. 
Suddenly  his  mind-picture  shifted.  He  looked 
about  with  startled  alertness,  the  rocks,  the 
undulations  of  the  plain,  were  new  to  him ;  he 
had  lost  his  way.  He  sought  to  retrace  his 
steps,  but  to  no  avail.  As  time  wore  on,  his 
horse  went  lame;  Beshara  dismounted  to  lead 
him — whither?  With  eager  eye  he  detected 
some  dark  objects  in  the  distance.  He  made 
his  way  painfully  toward  them  over  the  rolling 
stones  of  a  dried  water-course;  his  horse 
gasped  with  every  breath,  and  with  pleading 
human  eyes  seemed  to  beg  for  a  chance  to  lie 
down  and  die. 

Man  and  beast  revived  as  they  drew  nearer 


53  Beshara,  the  Bearer  of  Tidings 

and  made  out  the  low  black  tents  of  a  Bedouin 
encampment.  They  were  greeted  from  afar 
by  an  onset  of  barking  from  the  camp-dogs 
and  hooting  from  the  half-clothed  barbarian 
children.  These  were  silenced  by  a  young  man 
in  dirty  flowing  robes  who  came  forward  with 
a  salute  of  welcome:  "Marhaba!  (Greet- 
ings!)" 

"Marhabtein!  (Double  greetings!),"  an- 
swered Beshara. 

"Welcome !  Most  welcome !"  said  the  youth. 
"Come,  prefer  yourself  at  the  tent  of  the 
sheikh." 

"The  preference  is  from  you,"  answered  Be- 
shara. "But,  my  horse,  can  anything  be  done 
for  him?" 

"Come  this  way  to  Abu  Sharr.  There  is 
no  skill  like  his  in  all  the  world!" 

"Abu  Sharr!  'Father  of  Evil'!  What  a 
name!"  thought  Beshara,  but  in  politeness  said 
nothing. 

They  were  now  the  center  of  a  curious  and 
vivacious  group,  each  clamoring  with  his  own 
advice. 

"Cursed  be  the  father  of  children!"  cried  the 
guide,  cuffing  the  heads  of  the  younger  ma- 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  54 

rauders,  and  opening  a  way  through  the  group 
of  men  to  greet  the  esteemed  Abu  Sharr. 

The  case  was  explained  and  the  horse  exam- 
ined.   Abu  Sharr  stroked  his  chin  solemnly. 

"You  have  your  choice  of  three  remedies. 
You  can  bleed  the  horse,  put  in  a  seton,  or 
pierce  his  nostril." 

"Is  there  nothing  else?"  asked  Beshara,  his 
surgical  and  medical  training  rising  in  double 
protest. 

Abu  Sharr  gave  a  withering  glance.  "I 
raised  horses  before  you  were  strapped  into 
your  cradle." 

Beshara  was  tossed  helplessly  between  the 
horns  of  the  dilemma. 

"I  am  under  your  orders,"  he  said.  "As  you 
tell  me  to  choose,  let  us  try  bleeding — though 
the  poor  creature  has  little  blood  to  spare!" 
he  added  under  his  breath. 

Abu  Sharr  with  a  deft  motion  pricked  the 
two  front  veins  in  the  horse's  knees;  then,  to 
Beshara's  dismay,  mounted  and  started  off  at  a 
jog-trot,  leaving  a  double  red  track  on  the 
clay  behind  him. 

"Stop!"  cried  Beshara,  "the  horse  is  already 
exhausted;  he  is  sick  from  overwork!" 


55  Beshara,  the  Bearer  of  Tidings 

But  by  this  time  Abu  Sharr  was  beyond  call. 
The  horse  at  first  could  hardly  take  a  step 
without  stumbling,  but  to  Beshara's  amaze- 
ment, as  the  rider  urged  him  on,  his  step  be- 
came visibly  firmer.  At  the  end  of  a  half- 
hour,  he  returned  on  a  canter,  head  erect,  his 
eyes  clear,  and  his  whole  bearing  improved. 

"He  will  be  good  for  a  journey  to-morrow," 
said  Abu  Sharr,  dismounting. 

Beshara  was  now  taken  to  the  tent  of  the 
sheikh  and  received  with  the  hospitality  which 
is  the  Arab's  glory.  He  was  given  the  seat  of 
honor,  while  the  elders  ranged  themselves  in  a 
solemn  circle  about  him.  Pipes  were  served 
and  smoked  in  silence.  Only  at  intervals  did 
the  sheikh  break  the  spell  by  some  question 
about  the  journey  or  some  renewed  expression 
of  welcome.  In  the  center  of  the  group  the 
sheikh's  son  pounded  coffee  in  a  carved  wooden 
mortar,  beating  out  with  the  pestle  a  sort  of 
rhythmic  tune.  The  coffee  was  then  prepared 
over  a  brazier  and  poured  out,  frothy  and 
sugarless,  into  tiny  cups. 

The  supper  came  later.  A  copper  pot  was 
lined  with  dates,  the  gigantic  pie  thus  formed 
being  filled  with  melted  butter  and  placed, 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  56 

steaming  hot,  in  the  center  of  the  group.  The 
guests  tore  off  morsels  of  their  tough  bread 
and  dipped  them  into  the  common  dish.  They 
drank  from  earthenware  jugs  which  they  held 
high  above  their  heads,  while  the  water  poured 
from  the  nozzle  in  a  long  stream  into  the  drink- 
er's throat.  Two  men  stood  throughout  the 
meal,  holding  aloft  lighted  lanterns.  The  meal 
was  concluded  in  silence.  Then  Beshara  rose 
and  saluted  the  sheikh.  "Deimi!  (Forever!)" 
he  said,  leaving  it  to  the  company  to  interpret, 
"May  God  establish  forever  your  hospitable 
board." 

"May  God  establish  forever  your  life,"  an- 
swered the  sheikh.  "You  have  eaten  bread  and 
salt  with  us  now;  henceforth  we  are  brothers." 

The  dining-room  was  easily  converted  into 
a  bedroom,  the  guests  rolling  themselves  in 
their  rugs  and  sleeping  upon  the  ground. 

Beshara  awoke  refreshed,  and  found,  con- 
trary to  all  his  former  knowledge  of  cause  and 
effect,  maladies  and  their  cures,  that  his  horse 
was  now  in  excellent  condition  for  the  day's 
journey. 

The  sheikh  walked  with  him  toward  the  open 
space  where  the  horses  were  picketed. 


57  Beshara,  the  Bearer  of  Tidings 

Beshara's  foot  was  in  the  stirrup  when  a 
pleading  voice  caught  his  ear.  He  turned  and 
saw  a  woman  with  a  baby  on  her  back. 

"May  Allah  preserve  those  beautiful  black 
eyes!  Tell  me  truly  did  you  come  from  the 
great  school  for  doctors  at  Beirut?" 

"Yes,  truly,"  answered  Beshara,  smiling. 

"Allah  lengthen  your  life!  Look  at  my 
child!  See  this  great  swelling  on  his  neck; 
he  can  neither  eat  nor  sleep." 

Beshara's  heart  had  always  warmed  toward 
little  children  since  the  days  in  the  Johanniter 
Hospital,  when  he  used  to  carry  them  upstairs 
in  his  arms.  He  examined  the  baby  and  re- 
lieved it  at  once. 

"Mashallah!"  exclaimed  the  sheikh,  "we  did 
not  know  that  one  was  with  us  with  power 
from  God.  I  beseech  you  come  and  see  a  poor 
fellow  in  this  tent  who  was  shot  in  the  side." 

Beshara  followed  the  sheikh  into  a  dark  hole, 
a  reveling  place  for  microbes.  He  kneeled 
down  beside  the  patient. 

"The  ball  is  here,"  he  said,  placing  his  finger 
six  inches  from  the  wound. 

"Allah  has  revealed  it  to  you!"  exclaimed 
the  sheikh,  dumbfounded. 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  58 

"I  cannot  take  it  out,"  said  Beshara,  "as  I 
have  neither  dressings  nor  drugs." 

"We  will  send  for  everything,"  said  the 
sheikh,  "only  stay." 

Beshara  considered.  "There  are  many  dif- 
ficulties; I  should  have  to  change  the  whole 
treatment.  What  has  been  done  so  far?"  and 
he  noticed  more  closely  the  worn  face  of  the 
patient. 

"They  cup  and  bleed  me,"  groaned  the  suf- 
ferer, "to  keep  down  the  fever." 

Beshara  repressed  a  smile  as  he  recognized 
the  skill  of  Abu  Sharr. 

The  sheikh's  eyes  almost  twinkled.  "We 
know  how  to  raise  horses  here,"  he  said,  "but 
who  can  tell  what  is  concealed  within  the  body 
of  a  son  of  Adam?" 

"But  those  who  have  treated  the  patient  will 
not  want  to  give  up  to  me " 

"When  the  Sheikh  Mustafa  says  a  thing," 
answered  the  host,  "it  is  so." 

He  drew  Beshara  out  of  the  tent. 

"Hurry  up  there!"  he  called. 

A  man  appeared,  leading  a  dainty  creature, 
graceful,  light,  sensitive,  one  of  the  world- 
famed  mares  of  the  desert. 


59  Beshara,  the  Bearer  of  Tidings 

"Ruaib  is  her  name,"  said  the  sheikh  to  Be- 
shara.   "She  is  yours." 

And  thus  it  was  that  Beshara  was  installed 
as  surgeon-general  in  the  camp  of  Sheikh 
Mustafa. 

II 

Beshara  threw  himself  eagerly  into  his  new 
work.  His  heart  and  bright  young  face  aglow 
with  zeal,  he  served  the  tribe  with  the  intel- 
ligence, the  skill,  the  science,  that  had  been 
given  him. 

He  spent  two  hours  making  perfect  his  first 
antiseptic  dressing.  He  left  the  tent  to  see 
another  patient  and  returned  in  half  an  hour. 
The  man,  with  grimy  hands,  had  pulled  the 
dressing  off. 

"Why  did  you  do  this?"  asked  Beshara. 

"It  was  uncomfortable,"  answered  the  pa- 
tient. 

Beshara  learned  soon  to  expect  such  things 
as  a  matter  of  course. 

He  was  no  longer  the  guest  of  the  tribe. 

"Rather  their  slave,"  he  said  to  himself. 
The  coarseness,  the  uncleanliness  of  their  gipsy 
life  disgusted  him,  but  he  kept  bravely  on. 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  60 

As  time  passed  he  noticed  a  strange  unrest 
in  the  camp.  Firearms  were  taken  out  and 
burnished;  bags  of  dates  and  water-skins  were 
collected.  The  conversation  round  the  pipes 
was  all  of  war  and  plunder. 

"I  remember,"  said  Abu  Sharr  to  the  com- 
pany, "how  Asaad  Nimr  tried  years  ago  to 
plunder  in  the  name  of  our  sheikh.  His  cursed 
features  were  something  like  those  of  Sheikh 
Mustafa,  so  he  rode  down  upon  an  enemy  call- 
ing out,  %  Sheikh  Mustafa,  demand  your  sur- 
render.' The  coward  was  alarmed,  and  gave 
up  at  once  his  horse  and  arms  and  all  he  had. 
For  a  year  Asaad  boasted,  till  some  one 
learned  how  he  had  taken  his  booty.  The 
council  was  assembled,  and  without  a  dissent- 
ing voice  it  was  voted  that  the  plunder  be- 
longed to  him  whose  name  won  it." 

"Long  live  Sheikh  Mustafa!"  answered  the 
men. 

"Listen,  my  children,"  said  the  sheikh.  "The 
raid  must  be  by  the  way  of  the  desert."  He 
turned  to  Beshara. 

"You  will  be  ready  to  start  with  us  at  dawn. 
Take  your  bandages  and  medicines.  This  is 
what  we  have  needed  you  for  all  this  time." 


61  Beshara,  the  Bearer  of  Tidings 

Beshara  leaped  to  his  feet  with  flashing  eyes. 
"Is  this  what  you  have  tricked  me  into?  to 
make  me  a  highway  robber?  Take  back  your 
blooded  mare;  I  leave  you  to-night!" 

"Curse  the  religion  of  the  Nazarenes!"  cried 
the  sheikh.  "You  will  go  with  us  if  we  carry 
your  dead  body."  A  dozen  men  grasped  their 
knives  as  though  to  make  good  the  threat. 

"You  would  better  not  be  a  fool,"  said  the 
sheikh. 

"Truly,"  answered  Beshara.  He  resumed 
his  seat  in  silence,  but  his  mind  worked  more 
fiercely  than  in  his  hardest  student  days. 

They  started  at  dawn.  A  few  camels  were 
taken  to  carry  provisions  and  horse-feed. 
"And  to  bring  back  the  booty,"  said  Abu 
Sharr. 

The  warriors  rode  on  horseback. 

"We  need  not  carry  much  water  from  here," 
said  the  sheikh.  "We  reach  the  well  of  the 
Eagle  to-night,  and  will  fill  the  water-skins  for 
the  two  remaining  days  in  the  desert." 

It  was  a  burning  ride  through  the  sun-glare. 
During  the  noon  rest,  Beshara  tested  the  tem- 
perature in  the  shadow  of  a  kneeling  camel — 
105  degrees! 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  62 

They  plodded  on,  hour  after  hour,  till  the 
landscape  swam  and  Beshara  fancied  himself 
forever  moving  on  through  a  white  waste 
of  clay  and  stones.  Only  one  thought  re- 
mained clear  before  him — the  well  at  sun- 
down! 

They  reached  it  at  last.  The  thirsty  animals 
spied  the  clump  of  verdure  from  afar,  and 
quickened  their  steps.  Beshara  leaped  from 
his  horse  and  threw  himself  full  length  upon 
the  ground,  to  peer  over  the  rocky  brim  into 
the  water.  A  fetid  odor  rose  up  into  his  face. 
With  dumb  despair  he  saw  the  surface  covered 
with  floating  dead  locusts;  on  one  side,  half 
in  the  water,  lay  a  dead  wolf.  Two  days  in 
the  wilderness  before  them!  A  sudden  hope 
rose  in  Beshara's  breast:  "They  will  have  to 
turn  back!" 

He  watched  the  sheikh's  face.  The  grave 
countenance  was  as  unmoved  as  when  he  was 
smoking  his  argileh  in  his  own  tent. 

"My  children,"  he  said,  "Bedouins  never  de- 
spair. We  must  sleep  here  to-night,  and 
to-morrow  take  the  two  days'  journey  in 
one." 

Without  a  murmur  the  men  threw  them- 


63  Beshara,  the  Bearer  of  Tidings 

selves  upon  the  ground.  It  was  still  like  the 
floor  of  an  oven. 

Before  light  they  were  roused. 

"We  have  a  little  leben,"  said  the  sheikh,  "to 
divide  among  us  this  morning;  we  must  keep 
our  last  bag  of  pure  water  for  noon." 

The  horses  were  quickly  saddled.  The  poor 
brutes,  with  parched  tongues  hanging  out, 
looked  dumbly  at  the  green  water  but  would 
not  touch  it. 

The  day's  ride  was  past  description — a  day 
when  the  fever  burns  and  mounts  into  the  brain 
and  men  move  in  a  horrible  trance.  The  siroc- 
co wind,  robbed  by  the  desert  of  every  drop 
of  moisture,  wrapped  itself  round  them 
as  though  to  suck  their  life-blood.  Columns 
of  dust  stalked  down  upon  them  like  genii 
risen  from  some  enchanter's  bottle. 

At  noon  they  stopped  for  breath.  Each  man 
was  given  two  or  three  dates,  and  the  precious 
water-skin  was  unstrapped. 

"The  pebble,  where  is  it?" 

Abu  Sharr  produced  it.  Each  man  in  turn 
held  it  in  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  enougn 
water  was  poured  into  the  palm  to  cover  the 
pebble.    The  last  drops  were  poured  out  for 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  64 

Sheikh  Mustafa.    "Allah  Karim!  God  is  gra- 
cious !"  murmured  the  men. 

They  plodded  on  till  sundown,  when  the 
sheikh  called  a  halt  of  two  hours.  They  loos- 
ened the  horses'  trappings  and  lay  down  in 
the  open  desert.  The  empty  water-skins  lay 
shriveled  and  cracked  upon  the  ground  beside 
them.     The  moon  rose  clear  and  full. 

"Now  for  the  last  march!"  cried  the  sheikh, 
"before  you  are  water  and  life!" 

The  camels  rose  first,  with  awkward,  plung- 
ing motion,  and  led  the  way;  the  horsemen  fol- 
lowed, a  phantom  procession.  They  rode 
hour  after  hour  in  weary  silence.  The  moon 
waned,  till  Beshara  could  discern  nothing  but 
the  dim  outline  of  the  white  camel  before  him, 
moving  ever  onward  with  monotonous  swaying 
gait.  He  struggled  with  sleep  as  with  some 
bird  of  evil  omen  that  kept  ever  settling  back 
upon  him  when  he  drove  it  off.  At  last  the 
conflict  grew  too  painful;  he  slipped  down 
from  his  saddle,  and  in  an  instant  was  asleep 
upon  the  ground.  Abu  Sharr's  horse  stumbled 
over  him. 

"What  in  the  name  of  madness  are  you  do- 
ing?" exclaimed  the  rider. 


65  Beshara,  the  Bearer  of  Tidings 

"Leave  me!"  pleaded  Beshara,  "my  life  is 
nothing  to  me." 

With  rough  kindliness  the  Bedouin  jumped 
from  his  horse  and  forced  Beshara  back  into 
his  saddle. 

"My  son,  you  are  not  used  to  this  life;  we 
have  only  four  hours  more." 

Four  hours  of  suffering  for  man  and  beast ! 
At  last  came  the  dawn,  stretching  ghostlike 
fingers  across  the  plain ;  a  mountain  ridge  took 
shape  against  the  sky. 

"Praise  be  to  Allah!  there  is  our  well!"  cried 
the  sheikh.  "Do  you  see  the  women  with  their 
water-skins  ?" 

Water!  water!  who  knows  the  life-giving 
meaning  of  the  word!  The  men  broke  into 
cheers.  The  women,  with  eager  sympathy, 
drew  for  them  and  their  animals,  and  they 
drank  with  the  gratitude  of  those  who  enter 
paradise. 

When  all  were  refreshed,  the  women  filled 
their  water-skins,  slung  them  over  the  backs  of 
their  little  donkeys,  and  trudged  off  to  the 
Bedouin  settlement  at  the  base  of  the  moun- 
tain. The  sheikh  waited  till  they  were  out  of 
hearing,  then  rallied  his  men. 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  66 

"The  first  village  that  we  seek  is  up  yonder 
at  the  head  of  the  valley.  We  must  sleep  here 
at  the  well  for  the  day ;  when  night  comes,  we 
shall  leave  the  camels  here,  and  the  horsemen 
will  make  the  attack;  with  the  help  of  Allah, 
we  shall  not  leave  so  much  as  an  onion-skin 
in  the  village!" 

The  men  stretched  themselves  upon  the 
ground.  Beshara  was  the  most  exhausted  of 
them  all,  but  with  a  superhuman  effort  he 
kept  himself  awake. 

"This  is  my  high  calling!"  he  kept  saying  to 
himself.  In  a  short  time  all  around  him  were 
deep  in  sleep.  Without  a  sound  he  rose  to 
his  feet  and  hastened  in  the  direction  which 
the  sheikh  had  pointed  out.  It  was  an  hour's 
climb,  a  terrible  task,  but  he  panted  on.  The 
group  of  flat-roofed  houses  was  reached.  He 
hurried  to  the  market-place,  where  the  men 
were  assembled. 

"For  your  lives,  defend  yourselves!  the 
Bedouins  are  upon  you!" 

From  mouth  to  mouth  the  message  flew,  the 
whole  village  was  astir.  Men  rushed  hither 
and  thither  carrying  arms  and  making  barri- 
cades.   Beshara,  the  bearer  of  the  tidings,  was 


67  Beshara,  the  Bearer  of  Tidings 

soon  forgotten;  he  slipped  behind  a  low  arch, 
his  work  now  done,  and  threw  himself  upon 
the  ground  and  slept. 

in 

He  was  awakened  at  dark  by  the  sound  of 
guns  and  conflict.  He  jumped  up,  all  his 
young  blood  on  fire;  then  checked  himself. 
With  hands  clenched  and  lips  pressed  tightly 
together,  he  struggled  with  himself.  Should 
he,  Beshara,  stand  still  while  men  defended 
their  homes?  And  yet,  and  yet,  how  could  he 
in  honor  fight?  "I  have  eaten  bread  and  salt 
with  them!"  He  stood,  not  caring  that  the 
fighting  came  nearer.  Torches  gleamed, 
weapons  glanced  back  and  forth.  A  sudden 
weakness  came  over  him;  he  was  shot  in  the 
arm.  Like  one  in  a  dream  he  tried  to  stanch 
the  blood,  but  he  was  rapidly  growing  dizzy. 

He  was  called  to  consciousness  by  a  light 
touch;  the  slight  figure  of  a  girl  stood  before 
him. 

"Come  this  way,  quickly,"  she  said,  "there 
is  no  time  to  lose." 

He  followed  her,  dazed,  through  rough  al- 
leys, up  and  down  slippery  steps,  between 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  68 

rows  of  huts.  Smoke  poured  out  of  half -un- 
derground doorways  from  household  fires 
upon  the  floor  beneath,  and  in  the  fitful  glare 
he  could  see  huddled  groups  of  women  and 
children. 

His  guide  led  him  to  the  outskirts  of  the 
village.  "Take  care,"  she  said,  "these  steps 
are  steep." 

She  seemed  to  disappear  into  the  ground  be- 
fore him,  but  presently  emerged,  carrying  a 
smoking  clay  lamp.  He  followed  her  down 
the  steps,  and  found  himself  in  a  cave,  roughly 
fitted  up  as  a  human  habitation.  An  old 
woman  came  forward  to  greet  him. 

"Grandmother,"  said  the  girl,  "this  is  the 
messenger  who  brought  the  warning." 

"Welcome,  oh,  welcome  he  is  among  us!" 
she  cried  with  quavering  voice. 

Beshara  sank  down  upon  a  straw  cushion 
on  the  floor. 

"Grandmother,"  said  the  girl,  "he  is  wound- 
ed; he  has  lost  much  blood." 

As  she  spoke  she  brought  from  a  corner  a 
piece  of  soft  material  and  tore  it  into  strips. 

"Let  me  wash  the  wound  first,"  she  said, 
bringing  a  jug  of  water. 


69  Beshara,  the  Bearer  of  Tidings 

With  deft  fingers,  she  started  to  bandage  the 
arm. 

"This  way,  please,"  said  Beshara. 

She  grasped  his  meaning  intelligently,  and 
under  his  direction  made  a  creditable  dressing. 

"Yasmin  was  always  quick  with  her  fin- 
gers," said  the  grandmother. 

Yasmin!     Jessamine!     The  name  carried 
its  own  fragrance. 

A  halting  step  was  heard  on  the  stairway. 

"Grandfather,  is  it  you?" 

"Yes,  I  come  with  joy;  the  Bedouins  are 
driven  away!" 

"Praise  the  Lord!"  cried  they  all. 

The  old  man  started  at  the  sight  of  Beshara. 

"You  are  the  one  I  have  sought  all  day! 
The  whole  village  is  calling  for  you;  they  are 
ready  to  kiss  your  feet!" 

"Then  they  do  not  think  me  a  coward?" 

The  old  man  looked  perplexed.  "What  do 
you  mean?  They  think  you  a  prophet,  a  mes- 
senger from  God."  He  caught  sight  of  Be- 
shara's  bandaged  arm.  "And  wounded,  too! 
Truly  we  owe  you  our  lives." 

The  old  woman  leaned  forward.  "My  son, 
you  have  not  told  us  your  name." 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  70 

"Beshara,"  he  answered. 

"Beshara!"  she  repeated,  throwing  up  her 
hands  in  ecstasy,  "and  truly  did  your  mother 
name  you!  'The  Bearer  of  Good  Tidings!' 
Well  is  that  name  fulfilled  to-night!" 

The  next  morning  the  whole  village  crowded 
to  do  Beshara  honor.  They  came  with  sing- 
ing, dancing  the  sword-dance  before  him; 
never  did  a  king  receive  more  loyal  tribute. 
They  told  him  the  story  of  the  encounter  and 
of  the  brave  men  who  were  wounded. 

"Bring  them  to  me,"  said  Beshara.  "I  can 
use  my  right  hand  still;  perhaps  I  can  help 
them." 

Their  enthusiasm  now  knew  no  bounds. 

"A  great  hakim  is  among  us !  With  life  and 
death  in  his  hands!" 

Beshara  tended  the  wounded  while  the  fever 
was  still  upon  him,  and  the  people  who  gath- 
ered around  gazed  as  though  upon  a  miracle. 

"Oh,  stay  with  us  always!"  they  cried. 
"Men  will  come  to  you  from  all  the  villages 
round  about;  all  eyes  will  look  to  you,  the 
great  hakim!" 

The  thought  worked  in  Beshara's  mind  as 
he  lay  upon  his  pallet. 


71  Beshara,  the  Bearer  of  Tidings 

"I  should  not  grow  rich,"  he  thought;  his 
glance  full  upon  the  unselfish  face  of  the 
girl,  and  his  thought  slunk  away  for  very 
shame. 

"Tell  me,"  said  Yasmin  eagerly,  "did  you 
truly  come  from  the  great  college  for  doctors 
in  Beirut  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Beshara,  "and,  if  I  guess  right- 
ly, you,  too,  have  not  always  been  in  this  vil- 
lage." 

Yasmin  flushed,  as  she  answered  in  English : 
"I  was  in  the  school  of  the  English  ladies  in 
Nazareth." 

"Oh,  the  noble  English  language!"  ex- 
claimed Beshara.  "I  have  not  heard  it  since  I 
left  the  coast." 

Yasmin  brought  out  from  her  corner  a  pile 
of  English  books. 

"It  means  to  me  all  that  is  sweetest  and  best 
in  my  life,"  she  said. 

"What  is  that  strange  language  that  you  are 
talking?"  asked  the  grandmother. 

"It  is  what  they  teach  us  in  the  schools," 
said  Yasmin.  From  that  time  Beshara's  love 
for  the  English  language  grew  mightily. 

"How  can  you  be  so  happy,"  he  asked  Yas- 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  72 

min  one  day,  "in  such  different  surroundings 
from  those  where  you  have  been  educated?" 

"I  chose  to  come,"  she  said.  "I  could  not 
leave  my  grandparents  alone.  We  used  to 
have  a  house,"  she  added  apologetically,  "but 
when  my  grandfather  grew  too  old  for  work, 
we  came  here." 

"What  do  you  do  when  it  rains?  Does  not 
the  water  pour  down  the  steps?" 

"Oh,  we  have  dug  a  trench  around  inside 
the  wall  of  the  cave,  so  the  water  does  not 
reach  us,"  she  said. 

Beshara  looked  at  her  with  a  sort  of  awe. 


IV 


Several  years  later  there  arose  on  the  bluff 
overlooking  the  village  the  cheerful  red  roof 
of  the  hakim's  new  house,  the  red-tiled  roof, 
herald  of  the  new  civilization. 

But  the  hakim  himself  had  learned  that  a 
doctor's  house  in  a  country  village  is  only  a 
place  to  start  from.  He  was  again  on  horse- 
back. He  looked  up  lovingly  to  the  archway, 
where  stood  Yasmin  among  her  carnations  and 
aromatic  plants. 


73  Beshara,  the  Bearer  of  Tidings 

"Good-by,  little  wife,"  he  called. 

"Come  back  soon,"  she  pleaded.  "I  tremble 
when  you  go  to  these  distant  villages." 

"A  hakim  leads  a  charmed  life,"  he  cried; 
"never  fear!"  He  turned  down  the  steep  path. 
How  differently  he  had  once  panted  up  that 
way!  Stopping  at  the  last  turn  in  the  road, 
he  waved  his  good-by  once  more  to  Yasmin, 
who  still  stood  in  the  archway. 

He  had  not  told  her  that  his  road  must  again 
skirt  the  desert.  He  passed  the  well  which 
he  had  journeyed  so  far  to  find,  and  rode  on 
several  hours  upon  the  caravan  path.  No  liv- 
ing thing  did  he  see  save  a  bright-eyed  lizard 
that  darted  out  from  under  a  thorn-bush, 
and  sat  with  arms  akimbo  watching  the  stran- 
ger. 

He  rode  over  a  little  eminence,  and  started 
at  sight  of  a  party  of  Bedouins  just  ahead  of 
him,  riding  in  the  same  direction  as  himself. 
With  the  alertness  which  the  desert  traveler 
learns,  he  stopped  and  waited  till  they  should 
reach  a  safe  distance.  He  watched  them  as 
they  filed  down  a  depression  of  the  road  be- 
tween the  rocks.  Suddenly  a  demon  yell  burst 
forth,   and  like  an  avalanche  there  crashed 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  74 

down  upon  the  party  a  band  of  armed  men; 
the  line  was  thrown  back  upon  itself.  They 
gathered  themselves  together,  and  struck  for- 
ward again  like  a  serpent,  again  and  again, 
blow  and  repulse.  But  the  attacking  party 
had  the  advantage. 

It  seemed  only  a  few  minutes  before  Be- 
shara  saw  the  plunderers  tie  together  the 
horses  which  remained  unhurt,  gather  the 
weapons  of  their  captives  and  gallop  off.  It 
was  an  episode  which  may  occur  any  time  on 
the  desert. 

A  forlorn  enough  remnant  was  left,  several 
figures  lying  motionless  upon  the  ground,  the 
rest  bending  over  them. 

Beshara  could  no  longer  stand  by,  an  idle 
spectator.  He  made  his  way  toward  them ;  dis- 
mounting and  leading  his  horse,  he  approached 
them  on  foot. 

"I  wish  you  peace." 

He  was  answered  by  a  groan  from  a  wound- 
ed man  in  the  center  of  the  group. 

"Give  me  space,"  said  Beshara.  "I  think 
I  can  help  him." 

He  bent  down  and  started  as  from  a  blow. 
Yes,  it  was  no  other  than  Sheikh  Mustafa!  He 


75  Beshara,  the  Bearer  of  Tidings 

glanced  to  the  face  opposite  him,  and  met  the 
sinister  features  of  Abu  Sharr! 

"In  the  name  of  the  Sheitan!"  exclaimed 
Abu  Sharr,  clutching  for  his  dagger;  but  the 
dagger  had  been  carried  away. 

"Curse  the  religion  of  the  beard " 

"Let  us  forget  the  past,"  said  the  sheikh. 
"My  son,  can  you  still  have  pity  on  an  old 
man?" 

Beshara  lifted  the  sheikh's  hand  to  his  lips, 
then  to  his  forehead. 

"My  father,  I  owe  you  my  life;  have  I  not 
eaten  bread  and  salt  with  you?" 

Carefully,  tenderly,  Beshara  bound  up  the 
wounds.  They  improvised  a  stretcher  out  of 
their  full  girdles. 

"We  must  carry  him  three  hours  to  the  near- 
est village,"  said  Beshara. 

After  an  hour's  weary  march,  the  sheikh 
stopped  them.    "Let  me  die  here  in  peace." 

They  laid  him  upon  the  burning  clay  and 
tried  to  shield  him  from  the  sun  with  their 
bodies. 

Suddenly  the  sheikh  lifted  himself  up  and 
spoke  to  Beshara. 

"My  son,  when  first  you  escaped  from  me,  I 


Springs  in  a  Dry  Land  76 

swore  I  would  take  your  life ;  but  now  I  know 
that  God  was  with  you." 

He  fell  back  heavily;  Beshara  caught  him 
with  his  arm  and  laid  him  back  upon  the  clay, 
lifeless. 


/^LANCES  THROUGH  THE  LATTICE 

VII     A  Life  behind  a  Veil 
VIII     The  Child  of  a  Vow 
IX     Hajjeh  Fatmeh  the  Wise 


VII 

HAJJEH 

FATMEH 

THE 

WISE 


MANY  years  ago  there  lived  a  man  of 
wealth  and  piety  named  Ahmed, 
who  was  inspired  from  above  to 
make  a  pilgrimage  to  Mecca.  Having  no  one 
to  whom  he  could  leave  the  care  of  his  property 
during  his  absence,  he  sold  all  that  he  had  and 
packed  the  money  proceeds  into  an  iron  pail. 
He  then  sought  for  one  whose  wealth  and  rank 
should  be  so  far  raised  above  the  sordid  temp- 
tations of  the  more  humble  sons  of  Adam  as  to 
render  him  a  safe  custodian  of  his  treasure. 
His  thoughts  turned  to  the  kadi,  or  judge,  the 
greatest  man  in  his  town.  "Who,"  thought 
Ahmed,  "is  more  worthy  than  he?"  So  to  the 
kadi  he  went  and  committed  his  store,  and  then 
started  forth  upon  his  pilgrimage 

n 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  78 

In  course  of  time  he  returned  and  has- 
tened to  pay  his  reverence  to  the  great  man 
of  the  town.  With  the  meek  consciousness  of 
having  obeyed  heaven's  precepts  first,  he  asked 
for  his  pail. 

"Your  pail!"  exclaimed  the  kadi.  "I  know 
of  no  pail.  Guards,  you  have  brought  a  mad- 
man into  my  presence;  turn  him  out!"  And 
the  pious  Ahmed  found  himself  chased  igno- 
miniously  from  the  court. 

In  his  despair  he  sought  counsel  of  Haj  jeh 
Fatmeh,  a  woman  gifted  with  prudence  and 
discretion  far  beyond  her  sex. 

She  listened  to  his  story  with  calm  assur- 
ance. "Never  fear,"  she  said.  "Meet  me  to- 
morrow at  the  kadi's  after  the  noon  hour  of 
prayer,  I  will  be  there  before  you.  Enter 
boldly,  demanding  your  pail,  and  I  promise 
you  it  will  be  returned  to  you." 

The  zealous  Ahmed  could  gain  no  further 
word  from  her,  so  went  away  greatly  per- 
plexed. 

The  next  day  Haj  jeh  Fatmeh  arrayed  her- 
self in  rich  but  somber  robes,  and,  while  from 
the  turret  of  the  minaret  the  deep-toned  voice 
of  the  muezzin  was  still  resounding  in  the  ears 


79  Hajjeh  Fatmeh  the  Wise 

of  a  city's  worshipers,  sought  the  kadi's  pres- 
ence, thinking  to  find  him  in  his  luxurious 
court.  The  palace  however  was  silent,  save  for 
the  passing  footsteps  of  those  who,  like  her- 
self, came  to  present  their  claims. 

"His  excellency  has  gone  to  the  mosque  to 
pray,"  said  the  guard. 

"To  those  in  grief,  time  does  not  hinder," 
answered  Hajjeh  Fatmeh,  bowing  her  head 
and  drawing  her  black  veil  more  closely.  "I 
will  await  his  return." 

The  great  man's  devotions  were  protracted 
and  many  suppliants  were  gathered  in  the 
court  to  await  him,  but  when  at  last  he  ap- 
peared, his  countenance  beaming  with  pious 
complacency,  Hajjeh  Fatmeh  was  the  first  to 
throw  herself  at  his  feet. 

"O  noble  Kadi,  at  whose  approach  the  very 
trees  bow  their  heads  in  deference,  I  prostrate 
myself  before  you,  the  shadowing  shade  of 
refuge  for  all  who  are  distressed.  Be  it  known 
to  you,  O  Kadi,  exalted  and  excellent,  that  my 
husband,  a  merchant  of  great  wealth,  now  in 
Bagdad,  has  sent  me  word  that  he  has  fallen 
sick  and  requires  me  to  go  to  him  at  once  to 
nurse  him  back  to  health.    And,  O  most  gra- 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  80 

cious  Kadi,  whose  pity  is  like  the  sun  shining 
upon  the  snows  of  Lebanon,  you  will  surely 
understand  that,  though  my  grief  at  my 
Afendeh's  illness  is  as  the  ocean  in  its  depths, 
yet  as  the  ocean,  it  obeys  the  voice  of  him  who 
hath  ordained  it.  But  now  my  sorrow  and  per- 
plexity come  from  a  far  more  earthly  source, 
even  as  all  distresses  wrought  by  man  are 
harder  to  be  borne  than  those  that  God  has 
sent.  My  mind  is  rent  with  conflict  what 
to  do  with  my  Afendeh's  money,  which  he  com- 
mitted to  my  care  before  he  left  and  which  I 
dare  not  carry  on  the  brigand-infested  high- 
road to  Bagdad.  I  seek  a  man  of  undisputed 
honesty  with  whom  to  leave  the  treasure.  But 
honest  men  are  rare,  and  few  know  this  more 
truly  than  you,  O  most  august  of  kadis,  whose 
dealings  with  the  sons  of  men  are  as  the  mul- 
titudinous divisions  of  watercourses  among 
the  irrigated  fields.  Therefore,  I  have  come  to 
you,  even  as  the  bee  to  the  honey-laden  flowers 
of  henna,  that  I  may  gain. your  wise  advice 
and  learn  where  I  may  find  a  man  of  perfect 
honesty." 

As  the  kadi  listened,  his  face  beamed  more 
and  more  with  satisfaction,  and,  rubbing  his 


81  Hajjeh  Fatmeh  the  Wise 

hands,  he  asked:    "What  is  the  sum  you  wish 
to  place?" 

"Twenty  thousand  liras,"*  answered  Haj- 
jeh Fatmeh,  "and  few  men  can  be  trusted  with 
such  a  sum." 

"I  think  we  shall  have  no  trouble  in  finding 
such  a  man,"  answered  the  kadi,  stroking  his 
beard  and  puffing  hard  through  his  argileh  to 
hide  his  eagerness. 

"But  I  should  wish  to  see  proof  of  his  hon- 
esty," said  Hajjeh  Fatmeh. 

Just  then,  the  pilgrim  Ahmed  entered  and 
prostrating  himself  before  the  kadi  said,  "I 
come  to  ask  your  Excellency  for  a  pail  of 
treasure  which  I  entrusted  to  your  care  seven 
months  ago." 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  said  the  kadi. 
"Guards,  bring  the  pail  at  once  from  my 
treasure-house."  Forthwith  the  pail  was 
brought  and  given  to  Ahmed  and  the  kadi 
turned  with  an  inquiring  look  to  Hajjeh  Fat- 
meh. 

Just  then  a  shrill  song  of  joy,  the  zlaghit, 
was  heard  and  Hajjeh  Fatmeh's  maid  entered, 
dancing. 

*A  Turkish  lira  has  a  value  of  $4.40. 


Glances  through  the  Lattice 


"The  Afendeh,  Hajjeh  Fatmeh's  husband, 
has  returned,  cured  of  his  sickness !" 

Hajjeh  Fatmeh  joined  her  in  the  zlag- 
hit.  Then  once  more  bowing  to  the  kadi,  she 
said,  "Since  Providence  has  thus  ordained,  I 
need  no  longer  journey  to  Bagdad,  and  hence 
will  not  require  further  to  trouble  your  Ex- 
cellency." 

She  left  the  court,  followed  by  her  maid 
and  the  pilgrim  Ahmed  with  his  pail. 


VIII 

A  LIFE   BEHIND 
A  VEIL 


1WAS  born  in  the  sunny  south  of  France, 
but  early  in  life  I  became  governess  in 
the  family  of  a  French  consul  and  sailed 
with  them  to  Syria.  I  came  greatly  to  enjoy 
my  life  in  one  of  the  far-away  seacoast  cities, 
with  its  cheerful  amphitheater  of  gardens  and 
red  roofs  rising  above  the  blue  expanse  of  bay, 
and  the  snow-topped  Lebanon  shining  in  tints 
of  purple  and  pink  and  silver  over  all. 

At  the  end  of  two  years,  when  my  patrons 
left,  I  decided  to  remain.  I  had  learned  some- 
thing of  the  language  and  ways  of  the  people, 
and  soon  gained  the  position  of  companion  to 
the  daughter  of  Kamil  Af  endeh,  a  rich  Moslem 
gentleman  of  the  city.     My  charge  Selimeh 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  84 

was  a  fascinating  young  thing,  plump  and  fair- 
skinned,  with  brilliant  brown  eyes  and  black 
hair.  She  had  attended  during  her  childhood 
one  of  the  European  schools  in  the  city.  She 
had  worn  a  hat  and  European  dress  and  had 
been  allowed  the  same  freedom  as  her  school- 
mates. But  for  some  time  these  things  had 
ceased ;  she  was  now  sixteen  and  of  course  could 
not  go  out  of  the  house  alone,  nor  without  her 
izar  *  to  cover  her  from  head  to  foot.  I  saw 
quickly  that  these  things  chafed  her.  I  found 
her  one  day  smiling  before  the  mirror  in  my 
room  with  my  hat  on. 

"You  will  not  mind,"  she  said  in  her  pretty, 
coaxing  way,  "if  I  sometimes  wear  it  here  in- 
doors; it  makes  me  feel  free  again." 

We  went  away  soon  after  this  to  a  mountain 
village  to  spend  the  summer.  I  shall  never 
forget  Selimeh's  naive  pleasure  over  the  new 
experience  of  traveling  by  train.  The  railroad 
had  just  been  opened  and  was  to  all  a  marvel 
of  almost  supernatural  power.  Our  family 
party  just  filled  a  compartment,  so  Selimeh 
could  give  full  vent  to  her  spirits.     She  was 

*  A  long  veil-like  outer  garment,  worn  by  Moslem 
women. 


85  A  Life  behind  a  Veil 

charmed  with  the  rapidity  of  motion,  even  when 
the  cogs  crept  up  the  mountainside  at  the  rate 
of  seven  kilometers  an  hour.  With  the  gayety 
of  a  small  child,  she  would  raise  and  lower  the 
window  every  few  minutes,  with  fresh  exclama- 
tions of  rapture  over  each  change  of  scene. 
We  passed  the  fertile  plains  of  olive,  apricot, 
and  pomegranate  orchards,  up  through  the 
spicy  pine  groves  of  the  foot-hills,  to  the  bare 
flanks  of  Lebanon.  Mountainsides  of  purple 
rock  met  each  other,  with  roaring  torrents  be- 
tween. It  was  all  wonderful  to  me :  in  my  cul- 
tivated France,  all  nature  is  a  garden-bed, 
every  portion  used  for  man's  benefit;  but  here 
was  a  rude  wastefulness  which  seemed  to  de- 
spise petty  human  frugalities. 

We  reached  the  half-way  station  at  the  hour 
of  prayer.  Kamil  Afendeh  and  his  son  took 
out  their  prayer-rugs,  spread  them  upon  the 
platform,  and  proceeded  as  usual  with  their 
genuflections  and  prostrations.  They  were 
only  half  through  when  the  whistle  sounded  for 
starting;  the  passengers  returned  to  their 
places.  A  second  signal  was  sounded.  The 
younger  man  cut  short  his  devotions  and  re- 
turned to  his  place.     Not  so  the  father;  sol- 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  86 

emnly  he  raised  his  hands  to  heaven,  then  knelt 
and  kissed  the  ground.    A  third  bell  was  rung. 

"  Ya  Af  endeh !"  cried  the  guard.  " Ya  Af  en- 
deh!  the  train  will  start  without  you!" 

But  not  until  he  saw  the  compartment  doors 
being  shut  did  he  shuffle  into  his  shoes,  pick 
up  his  rug,  and  hasten  back  to  his  place, 
muttering  as  he  ran  the  last  sentences  of  the 
prayer. 

Our  summer  among  the  mountains  was  a 
delight.  We  looked  down  a  green  valley,  held 
in  by  ridges  of  rock,  to  the  shining  city  by  the 
sea.  Between  stretched  a  mist  of  olive  groves, 
hemmed  in  by  the  border  of  sea  sand,  the  liv- 
ing thing  in  our  landscape.  It  glowed  and 
trembled  in  the  intense  sun-heat  and  became 
now  golden,  now  dull  brown,  now  a  burning 
red,  like  a  stream  of  molten  metal.  Beyond  all 
glittered  the  blue  and  silver  sea.  This  was  our 
day  view. 

At  night  a  spell  fell  upon  our  world.  At 
sunset  we  would  see  a  line  of  white  mist 
stretched  along  the  horizon;  as  we  watched, 
this  would  unfold  itself  like  a  canopy,  cover  the 
sea,  rapidly  expanding  toward  us,  till  the  whole 
plain  was  shut  out  of  view;  then  creeping  up 


87  A  Life  behind  a  Veil 

the  valleys,  it  would  wrap  around  the  feet  of 
the  outlying  ridges  like  billows  around  a  prom- 
ontory. When  the  moon  rose,  it  would  be  upon 
a  phantom  ocean  with  a  phantom  shore.  But, 
even  as  we  watched,  the  billows  would  be  dis- 
sipated and  the  whole  level  sea  melt  away,  and 
from  its  depths  would  again  shine  out  the 
twinkling  lights  of  the  plain. 

Every  day  the  ladies  of  the  family  flocked 
out  in  a  gay  bevy  to  walk.  When  we  were  be- 
yond the  village  limits,  veils  were  thrown  back 
and  we  enjoyed  our  freedom.  Most  of  the 
ladies  preferred  sitting  by  the  stream  for  pas- 
sive enjoyment;  they  would  roll  their  cigarets 
with  the  skill  of  adepts,  chattering  and  laugh- 
ing between  the  puffs  of  smoke.  Selimeh  and 
I  chose  instead  to  climb  over  the  rocks,  where 
overhanging  maidenhair  and  grasses  revealed 
the  trickling  streamlets,  and  the  spicy  odor  of 
henna  intoxicated  the  senses. 

One  day  the  whole  party  roamed  down  into 
a  glen  below  the  village,  where  walnut-trees, 
cane,  and  bramble  made  an  alluring  tangle. 
The  ladies'  veils  trailed  back  carelessly  from 
their  girdles,  and  with  something  of  the  free- 
dom of  the  mountain  maidens  they  started 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  88 

scrambling  across  a  narrow  path.  We  heard 
a  slight  shriek  from  the  foremost  one,  and  saw 
to  our  consternation,  directly  in  front  of  us,  a 
young  man,  a  gentleman  whom  I  recognized 
at  once  as  Rashid  ul-Hassan,  one  of  the  rising 
young  men  of  our  city.  A  dilemma  indeed! 
Unveiled  ladies,  a  narrow  path,  and  a  gentle- 
man directly  before  us!  With  an  inspiration 
worthy  of  his  code  of  etiquette,  the  young  man 
turned  his  back  to  the  path  and  stood  facing 
a  rock  till  the  party  had  passed!  On  our  re- 
turn, Kamil  Afendeh  was  so  much  pleased 
with  the  deference  thus  paid  to  his  harim,  that 
he  sent  a  basket  of  fruit  to  the  young  man  in 
acknowledgment  of  his  delicacy.  But  I  knew 
better.  I  had  noticed  the  quick  glance,  all-suf- 
ficient, which  had  glowed  upon  Selimeh  and 
only  Selimeh,  and  I  knew  that  something  had 
begun. 

The  summer  passed,  the  first  rains  of  au- 
tumn fell  like  a  blessing,  carrying  away  the 
dust  and  disease  of  the  four  months  of  dryness. 
We  were  again  in  the  city.  It  was  pleasant 
after  all,  we  thought,  to  be  once  more  in  touch 
with  throbbing  life.  My  love  for  the  modes, 
which  has  always  been  my  chief  weakness,  led 


89  A  Life  behind  a  Veil 

me  again  into  my  favorite  street,  among  the 
European  shops.  I  was  turning  home  one 
afternoon  with  my  purchases,  when  some  one 
stepped  up  to  me  from  behind. 

"I  beg  pardon,  mademoiselle;"  the  accents 
were  of  the  most  fluent  French.  I  recognized 
at  once  the  lithe  figure  with  its  European  dress, 
and  the  consideration  of  manner,  which  seemed 
to  be  habitual. 

I  bowed  gravely,  but  let  my  eyes  smile,  as  I 
answered:  "I  think  I  have  had  the  pleasure 
before  of  seeing — your  back." 

Rashid  ul-Hassan  flushed.  "It  is  about  that 
occasion  that  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  speak- 
ing to  you."  He  looked  uneasily  at  the  crowds, 
Syrians,  Bedouins,  Europeans,  who  thronged 
back  and  forth  before  us. 

"In  a  crowd  one  is  most  alone,"  I  said. 

"Thank  you,"  he  answered.  "In  our  land 
we  can  use  only  such  opportunities  as  we 
have."    Then  he  was  silent. 

I  waited.  He  gathered  himself  together 
again. 

"Mademoiselle,  I  may  speak  freely  to  you; 
you  know  the  honor  and  freedom  of  the  West, 
where  men  and  women  know  and  trust  each 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  90 

other.  Since  that  day  last  summer,  there  has 
grown  upon  me  a  necessity ;  it  is  an  honorable 
and  manly  wish,  that  would  not  be  denied  me 
in  your  country;  may  I  look  to  you  for  help?" 

I  knew  what  was  coming. 

"I  must  see  Mademoiselle  Selimeh  again; 
I  must  speak  to  her." 

I  tapped  my  parasol  nervously  upon  the 
stone  pavement.  He  went  on  more  eagerly. 
"My  grandfather  keeps  a  silk  shop  in  the 
bazaar;  take  her  there.  We  shall  meet  acci- 
dentally." 

Something  of  the  spirit  of  the  old  trouba- 
dour days  leaped  within  me.  I  knew  that  what 
he  asked  was  but  a  common  right  of  human 
beings.  I  knew  moreover  that  my  Selimeh  had 
lost  all  her  childish  pleasure  in  life  ever  since 
that  time. 

"I  am  but  the  necessary  instrument  of  fate," 
I  said  to  myself.  "I  will  go  with  her,"  I  spoke 
slowly,  "at  the  time  you  name." 

"To-morrow  morning,"  he  answered  eagerly. 
"I  am  eternally  your  debtor." 

I  did  not  tell  my  plot  to  Selimeh;  she  con- 
sented readily  enough  to  a  shopping  foray  on 
its  own  merits.     We  passed  the  European 


91  A  Life  behind  a  Veil 

streets,  blockaded  with  carriages,  thronged 
with  fashionably  dressed  people,  and  entered 
through  a  low  archway  the  bazaar  of  the  old 
city;  through  one  archway  from  the  twentieth 
century  to  the  Middle  Ages!  We  found  our- 
selves in  an  open  court  alive  with  a  moving 
multitude,  gay  with  ever-shifting  colors,  ring- 
ing with  the  calls  of  the  traffickers. 

"Ya  Karim!  O  Thou  Gracious  One!"  cried 
the  vendor  of  fresh  loaves.  His  meaning,  mys- 
tical to  a  stranger,  was  evident  to  those  who 
heard:  "God,  the  Gracious  One,  supplies  you 
with  bread." 

The  sherbet-seller  tinkled  his  brass  cups, 
and  poured  out  cool  drafts  for  passers-by. 
The  aged  tinman  sat  in  the  door  of  his  shop 
patiently  converting  old  kerosene  tins  into  cups 
and  coffee-pots.  The  potter  sat  among  his 
jugs  and  smoked  in  silence. 

"Allah  will  send  the  customers,"  he  said  to 
himself. 

Selimeh  and  I  picked  our  way  up  a  slippery 
paved  alley.  We  were  pushed  back  upon  a 
wall  as  a  string  of  loaded  mules  passed  by,  and 
were  much  encumbered  by  a  growing  cortege 
of  beggars.    But  the  silk  bazaar  was  not  far 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  92 

off.  We  found  the  aged  merchant  sitting  alone 
in  his  shop,  enjoying  the  soothing  bubble  of 
his  argileh.  He  saluted  us  with  portly  dignity. 
An  attendant  brought  chairs  and  called  the 
sherbet-seller  from  the  street.  Two  cups  were 
filled  and  brought  to  us  overflowing  in  honor 
of  our  dignity.  But  these  were  only  common 
courtesies  accorded  to  customers  of  rank;  I 
had  no  reason  to  suppose  that  our  plot  was 
known. 

We  explained  what  silk  we  wanted.  With 
much  deliberation  the  old  man  hunted  among 
his  wares  and  spread  the  goods  upon  the  coun- 
ter.   Selimeh  was  delighted. 

"The  venerable  gentleman  will  excuse  you," 
said  I,  "if  you  throw  back  your  veil;  you  can- 
not see  to  choose." 

With  the  impatient  toss  of  her  head,  which 
she  always  gave  handling  her  veil,  Selimeh 
threw  it  to  one  side.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed, 
her  eyes  shining  with  unusual  brilliance.  But 
the  old  gentleman  did  not  readily  follow  her 
fancies,  as  she  tossed  aside  one  piece  after  an- 
other of  his  rich  goods. 

A  door  opened.  "I  think  I  can  find  what 
the  lady  wishes,"  said  a  voice,  and  young  Has- 


QS  A  Life  behind  a  Veil 

hid  ul-Hassan  entered.  Selimeh  started  and 
drew  her  veil  in  confusion. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  the  young  man,  in 
French. 

Strange  that  the  mere  foreign  accents  should 
carry  with  them  a  code  of  life,  but  as  the  goods 
were  displayed  and  the  trifling  remarks  and 
explanations  made  in  regard  to  them,  Selimeh 
became  quite  naive  and  self-f orgetf ul ;  indeed 
it  seemed  to  me  she  was  hardly  careful  to  keep 
her  veil  in  place.  That  was  all,  but  in  that 
paltry  interview  a  social  system  was  defied. 
When  we  reached  home,  Selimeh  was  very 
silent. 

"What  have  I  done!"  thought  I,  and  trem- 
bled. 

A  short  time  after  this  there  was  a  great  stir 
in  the  family.  The  brother  and  uncle  of  Ras- 
hid  ul-Hassan  came  to  Selimeh's  father  and 
formally  requested  that  she  should  be  Rashid's 
bride.  Kamil  Afendeh  would  not  hear  of  the 
proposition. 

"For  months  I  have  destined  my  daughter 
to  a  far  more  honorable  position,  to  be  the 
wife  of  Said  Afendeh,  the  wealthy  and  re- 
nowned." 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  94 

"But  Said  Afendeh  is  old  and  ugly,  and  has 
a  wife  already,"  shrieked  Selimeh. 

"What  is  that  to  you?"  said  her  father. 
"Does  not  our  holy  law  ordain  that  man  shall 
have  four  wives  for  his  portion?" 

Selimeh  pressed  her  lips  together.  "You 
may  bury  me  alive,"  she  said,  "but  you  cannot 
marry  me  to  Said  Afendeh." 

Coaxing,  threats,  tauntings  were  tried, 
but  my  warm-blooded,  high-spirited  Selimeh 
seemed  suddenly  turned  to  stone.  She  was 
shut  up  in  a  room  by  herself,  with  only  a  piece 
of  sacking  to  sleep  on.  I  wept,  I  besought  for 
her,  but  I  soon  saw  that  if  I  were  not  discreet, 
I  should  be  sent  away. 

One  day,  we  heard  a  commotion  in  the  street, 
several  shots  were  fired.  Presently  Selimeh's 
mother  came  in,  carrying  a  bloody  handker- 
chief and  a  fez  pierced  with  a  bullet  hole,  and 
showed  them  to  Selimeh. 

"Tell  me  whose  these  are,"  she  said. 

Selimeh  sank  down  upon  the  floor.  I  looked 
at  the  name  on  the  handkerchief;  it  was  indeed 
Rashid  ul-Hassan.  I  wondered  how  Selimeh 
would  live  through  it;  but  grief  seldom  kills. 
I  was  now  allowed  to  be  with  her  again.    She 


95  A  Life  behind  a  Veil 

would  sit  most  of  the  time  leaning  her  head 
upon  my  lap  or  shoulder,  speechless,  motion- 
less. 

I  tried  one  day  to  interest  her  in  the  sunset. 
We  had  had  a  storm,  and  sea  and  sky  were 
leaden  black ;  one  shaft  of  sunlight  broke  across 
the  bay  and  struck  the  ships  in  the  harbor, 
bringing  them  out  from  the  gloom  like  ships  of 
fire.  Selimeh  looked  out  of  the  window  with 
me.  Suddenly  she  caught  my  arm  and  pointed 
to  the  street.  I  looked  down  and  saw  Rashid 
ul-Hassan!    Selimeh  was  very  white. 

"Go  and  speak  to  him,"  she  said. 

I  ran  down  breathless  and  surprised  him 
much.    "We  thought  you  were  dead,"  I  said. 

He  looked  amazed.  I  told  the  story  of  the 
fez  and  handkerchief;  his  eyes  darkened  with 
a  dangerous  look  as  he  listened. 

"I  was  out  of  the  city,"  he  said,  "when  that 
low  street  quarrel  took  place;  that  handker- 
chief was  stolen  from  me  by  some  base  trick.' ' 

I  went  back  to  Selimeh  and  found  her  trem- 
bling on  the  floor.  I  told  her  of  the  conversa- 
tion, then  left  her  before  my  courage  should 
fail  for  a  bold  resolve.  I  went  straight  to 
Kamil  Af  endeh. 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  96 

"Your  daughter  will  die,"  I  said,  "if  you 
do  not  let  her  marry  Rashid  ul-Hassan."  I 
did  not  wait  for  his  answer. 

I  spent  a  night  of  sleepless  suspense.  Early 
in  the  morning  my  reward  came.  Kamil  Af  en- 
deh  came  into  the  room  where  Selimeh,  her 
mother  and  I  were  sitting,  and  said: 

"I  have  decided  to  give  my  daughter  to 
Rashid  ul-Hassan;  be  ready  for  the  wedding 
in  ten  days." 

It  seemed  too  wonderful  to  be  true.  Selimeh 
went  about  the  house  in  a  sort  of  trance,  while 
the  rest  of  us  worked  ourselves  into  a  fever  over 
satins,  laces,  and  embroideries.  Of  course,  the 
bridegroom  did  not  visit  his  bride;  that  would 
be  a  liberty  unknown  in  our  society.  But  Seli- 
meh was  satisfied. 

She  came  to  me  one  day  and  said:  "How 
strange  that  I  should  be  so  happy,  when  so 
many  others  are  miserable!" 

"What  is  it  now?"  I  said. 

"I  was  down-stairs  with  the  washerwoman, 
Khazma,"  she  said,  "and  found  her  crying;  I 
asked  her  what  was  the  matter.  She  answered 
that  her  husband's  brother  had  been  beating 
her.    'Of  course/  she  said,  'we  expect  our  hus- 


97  A  Life  behind  a  Veil 

bands  to  beat  us,  but  it  is  hard  when  our  hus- 
bands' brothers  begin  it  too.' " 

"What  did  you  say?"  I  asked,  half  laughing. 

"I  comforted  her  as  well  as  I  could,"  said 
Selimeh,  "I  put  my  arms  round  her  and  kissed 
her  wet  face,  and  said  I  hoped  in  the  future  no 
one  would  ever  beat  her,  except  her  husband." 

Soon  after  this  came  the  wedding  festivities. 
Our  house  was  given  up  to  the  women,  who 
flocked  to  the  place  swathed  in  izars.  They 
decked  Selimeh  and  sang  her  songs  of  praise 
and  smoked  in  her  honor  all  day.  In  the  eve- 
ning, we  were  packed  into  carriages  and  taken 
to  the  house  of  the  bridegroom.  That  also  was 
crowded  with  women.  Selimeh  was  greeted 
with  acclamation  and  seated  in  honor  upon  a 
divan.  Throughout  the  evening  the  women 
danced  and  sang  before  her  and  refreshed 
themselves  with  coffee  and  sweets. 

The  bridegroom  and  all  the  men  were  as- 
sembled enjoying  their  own  festivities  in  the 
house  of  one  of  the  bridegroom's  friends.  At 
midnight,  a  commotion  arose  in  our  court. 

"The  bridegroom  has  come!" 

The  guests  made  a  feint  of  covering  their 
faces  and  Selimeh  was  draped  in  a  thick  veil. 


Glances  through  the  Lattice 


Her  mother  and  I,  with  women  relatives, 
waited  with  her  in  our  side  room.  We  heard 
footsteps,  as  the  bridegroom  and  his  brother 
were  ushered  to  the  head  of  the  court.  We 
could  tell  that  the  bridegroom  was  now  seated 
and  waiting  for  his  bride  to  be  brought  to  him 
for  the  fateful  raising  of  her  veil.  Selimeh 
held  my  hand  tight  and  trembled  as  she 
waited. 

"We  must  start  now,"  said  her  mother.  The 
women  closed  round  her.    I  rose  to  join  them. 

"No,  you  must  remain  here,"  said  her  mother 
decisively. 

I  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  "I  am  your 
daughter's  constant  companion " 

But  already  Selimeh  had  been  swept  out  of 
my  reach  and  a  group  of  relatives  crowded 
round  me  with  emphatic  assertions  that  I  must 
not  see  the  ceremony.  My  mind  grew  confused 
with  the  unexpectedness  and  strangeness  of  it 
all.  Suddenly  I  heard  a  scream.  I  broke 
through  the  group  of  women  and  ran  to  the 
court.  Selimeh  lay  upon  the  floor  senseless. 
Beside  her  stood,  not  Rashid  ul-Hassan,  but 
Said  Afendeh.  The  demon  plot  was  all  clear 
now. 


99  A  Life  behind  a  Veil 

"We  must  take  her  home !"  I  cried.  "This  is 
not  the  bridegroom !" 

A  hand  was  clasped  tightly  over  my  lips. 
"He  is  her  husband ;  he  has  lifted  her  veil."  It 
was  Selimeh's  mother  who  spoke. 

We  laid  Selimeh  upon  the  divan  and  some- 
thing was  poured  down  her  throat ;  it  kept  her 
insensible  for  a  time.  I  was  ordered  to  leave 
the  house,  but  on  my  entreaties  was  allowed  to 
remain  on  condition  that  I  should  make  no  dis- 
turbance. 

I  went  back  to  my  Selimeh  and  covered  her 
with  my  kisses  and  tears. 

"Do  not  cry,"  she  said.    "Selimeh  is  dead." 

Early  the  next  morning,  I  saw  a  white  figure 
glide  past  my  door  toward  the  piazza;  it  looked 
like  Selimeh.  A  sudden  fear  seized  me;  I 
threw  on  my  robe  and  followed.  There  was  no 
one  there !  With  a  sick  apprehension  I  looked 
over  the  railing  to  the  street.  A  crowd  was 
already  gathered  round  a  motionless  white 
figure.  They  carried  her  up  and  laid  her  on 
her  bed.  The  news  went  rapidly  through  the 
house;  the  women  screamed  and  ran  about  in 
a  frenzy.  Selimeh's  mother  came ;  we  left  her 
alone  with  her  dead  child. 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  100 

I  could  not  stay  away  long;  I  came  back  to 
stand  outside  the  door.  What  was  my  horror 
to  hear  shrill  singing  within.  I  opened  the 
door;  the  mother  had  decked  Selimeh's  head 
with  flowers  and  had  spread  her  wedding  dress 
over  her;  she  was  dancing  beside  the  bed  sing- 
ing the  wedding  song  and  shrieking  by  turns. 
I  was  shocked  beyond  measure  and  tried  to 
draw  her  away,  but  she  only  cried  the  louder: 
"This  is  my  daughter's  wedding  day!" 

The  women  drew  me  into  the  court. 

"Let  her  alone,"  they  said.  "This  is  our  cus- 
tom ;  when  young  people  die,  we  make  a  wed- 
ding for  them." 

That  afternoon  they  carried  her  away.  The 
hired  mourners  beat  their  breasts  and  shrieked; 
the  women  of  the  house  flung  their  arms  into 
the  air,  crying,  "Farewell!  Farewell!"  But 
above  every  sound  in  the  babel  of  hopelessness 
rose  the  mother's  wedding  song. 


THE  CHILD 
OF  A  VOW 


A  SOFT  sea-breeze  was  fluttering  in 
upon  the  Syrian  coast,  bending  low 
upon  its  way  to  catch  the  whisper  of 
the  water  as  it  rose  to  the  brim  of  ragged  crev- 
ices, to  sink  again  amidst  a  dripping  fringe  of 
seaweed.  The  breeze  carried  the  dreamy  mur- 
mur through  the  open  doorway  of  a  fisherman's 
hut  and  the  sound  came  like  a  far-away  mem- 
ory to  the  aged  Abd-ur-Rahman,  who  lay  upon 
his  pallet  on  the  floor. 

"This  is  the  last  time,  my  daughter,"  said  he, 
"that  I  shall  ever  see  the  pink  sunset  light  upon 
this  water." 

Zahra  bent  over  her  father's  hand,  kissing  it 

passionately.      "You    will    bury   me,    O    my 

101 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  102 

father!  Do  not  speak  so!  How  could  I  live 
without  you?" 

"Yes,  my  daughter,  it  is  the  burning  of  my 
heart  that  I  must  leave  you  uncared  for;  but 
the  vow  that  has  cut  you  off  from  the  world 
and  the  married  life  has  given  you  to  God;  he 
is  gracious." 

"O  father!  do  not  think  that  I  ever  regret  the 
vow.  I  remember  so  well  from  the  time  that  I 
was  a  child  when  first  my  little  sister  and  then 
my  little  brother  died,  and  I  knew  even  then, 
because  every  one  said  so,  that  it  must  be  my 
fault,  that  I,  poor  unfortunate  child,  in  spite  of 
my  great  love  for  them,  had  somehow  brought 
the  evil  eye*  upon  them.  And  oh !  how  miser- 
able I  was!  And,  when  little  Aziz  was  born,  I 
remember  how  terribly  the  thought  came  over 
me  that  perhaps,  against  my  will,  I  should 
bring  the  evil  eye  on  him  too  and  make  him  die 
like  the  others.  And  I  went  to  my  grandmother 
and  asked  her  to  hang  another  charm  around 
his  neck,  and  I  would  hardly  look  at  him  lest  I 
should  bring  the  'eye*  upon  him,  but  instead, 
whenever  I  felt  a  great  longing  to  take  him  up 

*  The  supposed  power  of  harming  by  spiteful  looks ; 
much  dreaded  in  the  Levant  and  the  East  in  general. 


103  The  Child  of  a  Vow 

and  love  him,  I  would  run  away  and  hide 
among  the  rocks  and  cry  my  heart  out.  And 
you  and  my  mother  saw  that  I  kept  away  from 
him  and  thought  I  hated  him  and  felt  sure  that 
this  would  attract  the  evil  eye  still  more.  I 
remember  you  spoke  of  taking  me  to  the  Holy 
Well  and  letting  me  down  in  it  to  dissipate  the 
evil  influence,  and  then  you  thought  of  dressing 
me  in  black  and  leaving  Aziz's  hair  uncut  until 
he  was  seven  years  old,  but  you  finally  decided 
that  all  these  things  were  too  slight  to  avail.  It 
was  at  the  time  of  the  great  Sacrifice  of  the 
Dahiyeh,  when  so  many  thousands  of  sheep  are 
offered,  that  you  said  to  me,  'My  daughter,  you 
must  be  the  sacrifice  for  your  brother.'  And 
then  you  made  the  vow,  so  unusual  for  a  Mos- 
lem, the  Nathr,  like  the  vow  of  the  Christian 
nuns,  that  I  should  be  set  apart  from  the  world 
and  should  never  marry  like  others,  but  should 
be  forever  a  Nazarite.  It  is  this  that  has  kept 
him  alive,  father;  it  makes  me  so  proud  and 
glad  to  know  it,  and  that  my  life  has  been  a 
ransom  for  his." 

"Yes,"  said  her  father,  "but  you  have  done 
still  more.  When  your  mother  died  so  young, 
you  took  her  place;  I  can  see  you  now,  when 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  104 

little  Aziz  came  home  from  school,  taking  his 
red  calico  bag  of  books  off  his  shoulder  and 
washing  his  feet,  then  pulling  out  the  bread- 
trough  from  under  the  divan  and  giving  him 
the  bread-cake  in  which  you  had  tucked  a  mor- 
sel of  cheese  or  some  olives.  And  then,  when 
he  would  bring  his  troup  of  little  cousins  in  to 
supper,  you  would  seat  them  in  a  circle  on  the 
floor  and  set  the  dish  of  red  lentil  pottage  in 
the  midst;  and,  as  you  watched  it  disappear  so 
fast,  you  would  take  your  own  dry  loaf  and  eat 
it  by  yourself  out  on  the  rocks.  Do  not  think 
these  things  escaped  me.  And  what  did  it  all 
come  to  ?"  The  old  man's  face  grew  white  with 
anger,  and,  lifting  himself  upon  one  elbow,  he 
raised  his  trembling  right  hand  to  heaven. 
"The  Lord  return  upon  him  seven  times  his 
wickedness  and  his  ingratitude !  He  for  whom 
you  gave  up  your  life,  for  whom  I  worked  night 
and  day  on  the  wet  rocks  with  the  winter  winds 
cutting  against  my  half -naked  body !  He,  who 
never  brought  one  piaster  to  his  old  father,  but 
spent  all  he  had  in  his  revelings  in  the  cafes! 
That  he  should  turn  against  us  and  leave  us, 
cursing  his  father  and' his  sister  and  their  reli- 
gion!   May  the  Lord  cut  him  off " 


105  The  Child  of  a  Vow 

"Father,  father,  do  not  say  the  words I"  cried 
Zahra.  "Do  you  know,  sometimes  I  blame  my- 
self, and  think,  if  I  had  not  always  indulged 
him  but  had  sometimes  punished  him  when  he 
did  wrong,  he  might  have  been  more  thoughtful 
of  others."  Then  she  checked  herself.  "What 
words  for  me  to  say !  No,  no !  If  he  were  back 
here  now,  I  should  do  only  ten  times  more,  and 
if  he  asked  for  anything,  I  would  give  my  two 
eyes  to  get  it  for  him." 

"That  is  what  he  ought  to  do  for  you,"  an- 
swered her  father,  "now  that  he  has  become 
prosperous  in  Tyre.  When  I  vowed  you  a 
Nazarite,  I  expected  of  course  that  your 
brother,  for  whom  you  were  cut  off  from  other 
support,  would  take  you  to  his  home." 

"What  a  joy  that  would  be!"  exclaimed 
Zahra.  "How  I  would  serve  him  and  his  wife! 
Indeed  they  would  never  have  cause  to  regret 
my  coming." 

"But  as  it  is,"  went  on  her  father  bitterly, 
"what  can  you  do  to  put  a  morsel  of  bread  into 
your  mouth?" 

"I  have  thought  about  it  much,"  answered 
Zahra.  "I  hoped  at  one  time  that  I  might 
make  something  by  selling  salt;  so  I  poured 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  106 

sea-water  into  little  hollows  on  the  surface  of 
the  rocks  and  watched  day  by  day  for  the  sun 
to  dry  off  the  water  and  leave  the  crust  of  salt 
for  me  to  gather,  but  the  soldiers  saw  me  and 
threw  dirt  on  my  salt  and  of  course  they  had 
the  right,  as  I  was  going  against  the  law."  She 
sighed.  "At  any  rate,  my  trial  gave  me  one 
idea,  that  I  might  at  least  knead  my  bread 
with  sea-water  and  that  would  save  my  having 
to  buy  any  salt.  Perhaps  I  could  learn  to  spin 
silk;  if  I  worked  at  it  from  morning  till  night, 
I  might  earn  twenty  paras*  a  day.  I  could 
sometimes  carry  bread  to  the  public  oven  for 
the  neighbors  and  they  would  give  me  a  bread- 
cake  for  doing  it.  But  some  day  I  shall  grow 
too  old  for  work,  perhaps  I  may  go  blind;  so 
many  do.  Then  I  shall  have  to  sit  by  the  side 
of  the  street  and  spread  a  handkerchief  before 
me  on  the  dust,  putting  four  pebbles  on  the 
corners  to  keep  it  from  blowing  away,  and,  per- 
haps, when  the  people  pass,  Allah  may  soften 
their  hearts  and  they  may  sometimes  drop  a 
copper  for  me." 

Both  were  silent  for  a  long  time. 

Zahra  suddenly  broke  out  in  a  changed, 

*  Twenty  paras  have  a  value  of  about  two  cents. 


107  The  Child  of  a  Vow 

brightened  tone :  "Do  you  remember  what  my 
uncle  told  when  he  came  back  from  the  far- 
away countries,  from  the  Land  of  Barazil  and 
the  Land  of  Noy  Yurk  and  the  Land  of  Chi- 
cako,  that  there  women  have  almost  as  many 
ways  of  living  as  men ;  they  come  and  go  with- 
out veils,  and  work  in  factories  and  keep  shops, 
and  some  learn  how  to  write  on  paper  and  earn 
their  bread  by  it,  but  I  can  hardly  believe  this. 
But  the  strangest  thing  of  all  he  said  was  that 
there  the  unmarried  women  are  of  equal  honor 
with  the  married  ones!  And  they  often  even 
prefer  not  to  marry  at  all!" 

Her  father  looked  grave.  "Do  not  believe 
all  you  hear,  my  child;  there  are  many  lies  in 
the  world." 

He  seemed  deep  in  thought  for  a  while;  at 
last  he  spoke :  "Do  you  remember,  Zahra,  how 
often  when  you  were  a  child,  I  used  to  take 
you  with  me  in  my  fishing-boat  and  when  I  had 
spread  my  nets,  you  used  to  help  me  throw  out 
wheat  upon  the  surface  of  the  water  to  attract 
the  fish?  I  remember  the  first  time  that  I  took 
you  that  you  said,  'Isn't  it  a  shame,  father,  to 
waste  our  precious  wheat?  This  is  our  bread!' 
But  I  told  you  to  wait,  and  the  next  day  I  took 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  108 

you  back  to  the  place  and  there  were  the  nets 
full  of  fish!  Our  bread  had  returned  to  us  in 
double  measure.  Now,  Zahra,  your  life  has 
been  spent  in  casting  out  precious  wheat ;  surely 
he  who  rules  the  earth  and  sea  will  bring  it  back 
to  you  in  peace." 

His  voice  was  weakening  rapidly. 

"O  father,  give  me  your  blessing,"  pleaded 
Zahra. 

He  put  his  hand  upon  her  head.  "In  the 
name  of  God,"  he  murmured. 

Zahra  raised  her  wet  face  with  a  rapt  look. 
"O  father,  give  a  blessing  to  Tyre  also,  to 
Tyre,  O  my  father!" 

She  threw  open  the  southwest  window  and 
let  in  the  glorious  sunset  light. 

"Stretch  out  your  hands  toward  Tyre, 
father." 

She  kneeled  beside  him  again,  her  eager  face 
bright  with  the  reflected  splendor.  The  lines 
about  the  old  man's  face  worked  painfully; 
then  a  softness  seemed  to  come  over  him. 
Raising  himself  with  difficulty,  he  stretched 
out  his  two  hands  toward  the  open  window  and 
breathed  between  his  sobs:  "My  blessing  and 
my  forgiveness,  O  my  son." 


109  The  Child  of  a  Vow 

The  long  talk  had  exhausted  him  and  he 
wearily  closed  his  eyes  and  Zahra  sat  down 
upon  the  doorstep  with  head  bent  upon  her 
knees. 

She  was  roused  presently  by  her  aunt,  Im 
Ali,  from  the  neighboring  cottage.  A  fat, 
flabby  creature  in  flimsy  blouse  and  red  Turk- 
ish trousers,  but  with  head  carefully  veiled, 
her  appearance  was  not  prepossessing;  neither 
was  her  voice,  which  was  shrill  and  coarse  and 
drawn  out  with  a  peculiar  falling  inflection  dis- 
tinctly feline.  But  there  was  something  not 
unkind  in  her  manner  as  she  shook  her  niece 
from  her  reverie. 

"Destroy  your  courts !  What  are  you  doing 
here?  W'Allah,  you  look  pale;  you  have  not 
slept  for  eight  days." 

"How  can  I  sleep?"  sighed  Zahra.  "Father 
thinks  he  is  not  going  to  live." 

"Oh,  far  removed  be  the  evil!"  exclaimed 
her  aunt.  "By  the  cutting  off!  are  you  going 
to  believe  every  whim  of  a  sick  person? 
W'Allah,  an  hour  ago,  he  looked  better  to  me 
than  I  have  seen  him  for  fifteen  days." 

"Oh,  please  talk  softly,"  said  Zahra.  "He  is 
asleep." 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  110 

"Never  fear,"  replied  her  aunt,  dropping 
her  voice  mysteriously,  "what  I  want  to  say 
must  go  no  farther  than  your  ear.  Get  me  the 
argileh  and  I  will  talk  to  you  here." 

Zahra  filled  the  glass  bottle  with  water,  ad- 
justed the  tobacco  and  a  bit  of  glowing  char- 
coal at  its  mouth  and  handed  the  long  stem  to 
her  aunt. 

The  woman  drew  the  smoke  thoughtfully  for 
some  moments,  staring  at  the  bubbling  water 
as  though  for  an  inspiration. 

"Zahra,"  she  said  at  last,  "you  know  you  are 
a  Nazarite." 

Zahra  smiled;  "I  am  not  likely  to  forget 
that." 

"And  far  be  it  from  me,"  continued  her  aunt, 
"to  belittle  the  sacredness  of  the  vow.  When 
your  father  made  it,  I  was  the  first  to  approve, 
and  I  never  stopped  telling  your  brother  that 
it  was  you  who  preserved  his  life  and  that  he 
owed  it  to  you  to  care  for  you.  But  what  has 
he  done?  Cursing  and  reviling  us  all  in  the 
name  of  our  religion!  The  Lord  reward  him! 
Zahra,  he  has  cut  himself  off  from  mercy; 
Allah  will  never  require  it  of  you  to  sacrifice 
yourself  any  longer  for  him!" 


Ill  The  Child  of  a  Vow 

"Oh,  do  not  say  any  more,"  cried  Zahra. 
"My  vow  is  the  most  precious  thing  in  the 
world  to  me ;  with  it  I  have  bought  a  life !" 

"W'Allah,  you  must  listen,"  said  her  aunt. 
"It  is  a  question  of  your  living  or  dying. 
Whom  have  you  in  the  world  when  your  father 
is  gone?  Here  am  I,  your  only  relative,  tied 
hand  and  foot  with  my  big  family,  and  my 
husband  a  poor  man.  We  would  never  deny 
you  a  morsel  while  we  have  it,  but  sometimes 
we  have  not  food  for  our  own  children.  Can 
we  eat  the  soil  and  wear  the  walls  of  the  house?" 

"I  should  not  ask  you  to  support  me,"  said 
Zahra. 

Her  aunt  continued:  "You  know  the  prov- 
erb, 'God  strikes  with  one  hand  and  protects 
with  the  other.'  And  he  has  now  sent  you  what 
you  could  not  have  expected,  being  a  Nazarite; 
he  has  sent  you  the  lot  of  all  others." 

Zahra  was  sobbing  upon  her  knees.  "Yes,  I 
know  who  it  is.  Please  do  not  say  anything 
more  about  it." 

"You  know!"  exclaimed  her  aunt.  "If  you 
had  seen  him,  what  a  fine  handsome  man  he  is, 
and  if  you  knew  his  good  position  and  reputa- 
tion  " 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  112 

"Yes,  I  have  seen  him,"  said  Zahra,  but 
added  quickly,  "of  course,  I  did  not  speak  to 
him,  nor  he  to  me.  It  was  when  I  took  my  jar 
to  the  well ;  I  suddenly  came  face  to  face  with  a 
stranger;  I  drew  my  veil  quickly,  but  I  saw 
his  face,  he  was  what  you  say.  Of  course,  I  did 
not  know  then,  at  least,  why  should  I  think  so? 
but  just  now  when  you  told  me,  I  felt  sure  this 
must  be  the  one." 

"Yes,  it  must  have  been,"  said  the  aunt. 
"There  is  no  other  stranger  about.  But  he  is 
not  unknown  to  us.  He  is  from  a  good  family ; 
his  name  is  Hamad  Jaf ar.  He  has  heard  all 
about  you  and  about  the  vow,  but  he  does  not 
mind.  He  asks  me  to  take  you  with  him  to  the 
sheikh  in  the  city,  and  the  writing  will  be  writ- 
ten and  you  will  be  his  legal  wife;  after  that, 
the  world  can  say  nothing." 

"Yes,  and  then  my  brother  will  die,"  said 
Zahra  solemnly.  "No,  tell  him  I  cannot  think 
of  it,"  and  she  rose  proudly  and  went  back  to 
her  father. 

Im  Ali  followed  her  and  struck  a  light,  sud- 
denly revealing  the  wanness  and  haggardness 
of  the  sick  man's  face.  The  woman's  heart 
smote  her  with  horror:    "Here  I  am  trying  to 


113  The  Child  of  a  Vow 

marry  off  the  girl  and  my  own  brother  is  dying! 

The  poor,  poor  child,  how  can  she  see  him " 

and  with  reeling  brain  Im  Ali  tried  to  busy 
herself  about  the  room. 

She  presently  beckoned  Zahra  out  again. 
"Praise  be  to  Allah,"  she  said.  "See  how  much 
better  your  father  is !  Now  I  am  going  to  stay 
with  him  to-night  and  you  go  and  sleep  in  my 
house;  you  will  come  back  to  find  him  well  in 
the  morning.  Go  ask  your  cousin  to  give  you 
the  cup  of  coffee  that  I  left  for  you." 

Zahra  objected  at  first,  but  she  was  too  much 
exhausted  to  hold  out  long. 

Her  aunt  watched  her  disappear  with  evi- 
dent relief.  "I  hardly  thought  I  could  get  her 
off  so  quickly,  but  Allah  inspired  me;  the 
sleeping-draft  will  keep  her  quiet  now.  It 
is  only  kindness  to  keep  her  away — O  my 
brother,  my  brother!  how  can  I  let  you  go!" 
and  she  beat  her  portly  chest  with  sincere  grief. 
"O  Death,  may  your  own  life  be  cut  off!" 

Interested  neighbors  soon  dropped  in,  as 
usual  in  times  of  sickness,  and  for  each  new- 
comer Abd-ur-Rahman  made  a  fresh  effort  to 
raise  himself  on  his  bed.  The  excitement  and 
confusion,  with  the  suffocating  air  of  the  room, 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  114 

were  tiring  him  out,  but  it  did  not  occur  to  any- 
one to  let  him  remain  quiet. 

At  last  the  timid  click  of  a  staff  against  the 
stones  outside  announced  the  arrival  of  the 
blind  sheikh  who  had  been  called  to  perform 
his  religious  offices  for  the  sick  man.  The 
sheikh  entered,  a  picture  of  dignity,  in  his  long 
robe  and  turban,  his  sightless  gaze  full  of  de- 
vout resignation. 

"There  is  no  God  but  God,"  he  uttered  in  a 
sonorous  tone,  and  then  followed  the  lengthy 
intonation  of  sacred  passages.  Few  could  un- 
derstand the  words,  so  transformed  they  were 
by  inflections  and  rhetoric,  but  the  doctrine  was 
presented  rather  by  impressiveness  of  tone  and 
manner  than  by  words,  the  stern  doctrine  of 
the  fatalist,  of  submission  to  the  all-powerful, 
overwhelming  God. 

Before  the  words  were  ended,  Abd-ur-Rah- 
man  had  passed  beyond  the  reach  of  human 
voice. 

As  soon  as  the  company  realized  the  change, 
the  little  hut  became  a  turmoil  of  lamentation, 
shrieks,  and  wild  running  to  and  fro,  lasting 
for  hours,  while  preparations  were  made  for 
the  hasty  Oriental  funeral. 


115  The  Child  of  a  Vow 

But  through  it  all  the  mystic  draft  held  its 
power  and  Zahra  slept.  Her  aunt,  thankful 
to  have  her  plan  succeed,  waited  till  the  last 
offices  were  performed  and  the  last  gift  laid 
beside  the  dead,  the  earthen  bottle  of  water,  the 
seven  cakes  of  fresh  bread  with  the  seven  cakes 
of  dry  and  the  lump  of  henna,  symbol  of  purity. 
It  was  now  dawn  and  she  availed  herself  of  a 
lull  in  the  wailing  to  pick  her  way  among  the 
projecting  mulberry  twigs  to  the  closed  door 
of  her  own  hut.  She  entered  noiselessly,  but 
the  motion  was  enough  to  dispel  the  remaining 
effects  of  the  draft.  Zahra  raised  herself  in 
bewilderment. 

"I  have  come  to  tell  you  good  news,"  said 
her  aunt ;  "y°ur  father  is  better  and  the  neigh- 
bors have  been  coming  in  to  congratulate  him. 
So,  if  you  hear  any  confusion  of  voices,  do  not 
disturb  yourself — you  ought  to  rest  here  awhile 
longer." 

Zahra  lay  back  again  with  a  happy  smile  and 
her  aunt  left  her,  closing  the  door  behind  her. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  procession  started 
from  Abd-ur-Rahman's  door,  and  a  great  cry 
rose  from  the  assembly.  A  moment  more  and 
the  figure  of  a  girl,  frantic  with  grief,  head 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  116 

and  face  unveiled,  rushed  across  the  field  and 
threw  herself  into  the  midst  of  the  company. 
With  the  authority  of  grief,  she  commanded 
the  men  to  let  down  the  bier  and  they  obeyed. 

She  threw  herself  beside  it  in  a  paroxysm  of 
cries:  "O  father,  father!  Why  did  you  not 
take  me  with  you?" 

They  tried  to  draw  her  away,  but  she  clung 
on  still  more  wildly:  "O  father,  take  my  mes- 
sage of  peace  to  my  mother,  my  message  of 
peace." 

The  forty  days  which  followed  were  a  blank 
of  bewilderment  to  Zahra,  her  one  definite  act 
being  her  daily  visit  to  the  dreary  burying- 
place.  She  tenderly  gathered  day  by  day  fresh 
myrtle  branches  while  her  aunt  cherished  with 
unwonted  care  the  marigolds  and  pink  carna- 
tions in  the  tin  boxes  at  her  door-step,  gather- 
ing the  flowers  each  day  into  a  tight  little  bunch 
and  dropping  honest  tears  upon  the  strips  of 
rag  with  which  she  wound  the  stems.  The  two 
women  would  make  their  way  together  to  the 
dismal  place — an  unenclosed  waste  of  sand, 
with  only  a  bunch  of  thorns  here  and  there 
among  the  broken  head-stones.      There  they 


117  The  Child  of  a  Vow 

would  throw  themselves  upon  the  ground,  and 
would  lay  their  offerings  in  order  and  remain 
until  aroused  by  some  other  mourner  like  them- 
selves, or  until  the  cry  of  the  jackals  among 
the  rocks  reminded  them  that  night  was  com- 
ing. 

One  day  Im  Ali  was  kept  at  home  by  the 
illness  of  her  child  and  Zahra  was  obliged  to 
go  alone.  Never  had  she  felt  so  crushingly  how 
truly  alone  she  was  in  the  world.  She  sat  wist- 
fully watching  the  sparrows  round  a  bit  of 
water  in  a  hollow  in  the  adjoining  tombstone! 
Their  liveliness  seemed  to  mock  her.  At  last 
she  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  started  home, 
her  mind  in  a  whirl. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  some  one  was  following 
her  and  she  gathered  her  veil  closer  and  quick- 
ened her  steps.  Presently  she  gave  a  little 
scream ;  the  person  had  caught  up  with  her  and 
touched  her  on  the  arm.  She  knew  who  it  was 
before  she  saw  him,  the  same  stranger  that  she 
had  met  at  the  well. 

"Do  not  be  frightened,"  he  said.  "I  have 
something  for  you ;  I  could  not  trust  it  to  any 
one  else.,,  He  drew  out  a  paper  and  handed 
it  to  her.    "It  is  a  letter  from  your  brother." 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  118 

"From  my  brother!"  gasped  Zahra;  in  all 
the  time  since  he  had  left  them,  never  had  any 
message  come  from  him  before. 

She  opened  it  with  trembling  hands  and 
looked  at  the  signature. 

"Yes,  that  is  his  name,"  she  cried  joyfully. 
"I  remember  how  it  used  to  look  when  he  wrote 
it;  he  was  so  clever  in  everything." 

She  gazed  at  the  closely-written  lines  above 
the  signature  eagerly,  passionately,  with  the 
awe  upon  her  face  which  the  untaught  always 
feel  toward  the  written  page. 

"I  cannot  read  it,"  she  said,  almost  with  a 
cry,  and  lifted  her  helpless  beseeching  gaze  full 
upon  his.  In  that  moment  the  artificial  restric- 
tions of  a  lifetime  counted  for  nothing,  and  it 
seemed  in  no  way  strange  to  either,  this  sudden 
sense  of  sympathy  and  comradeship. 

"Shall  I  read  it  to  you?"  he  asked. 

She  handed  him  the  letter  without  a  word 
and  he  read: 

"To  our  honored  and  cherished  sister,  Zahra: 
May  God  prolong  her  life! 

"After  greetings  and  messages  of  peace,  we 
write  that  the  word  of  sorrow  has  reached  us 
and  that  our  heart  is  riven  with  anguish  and 


119  The  Child  of  a  Vow 

desolation  that  cannot  be  comforted — to  him 
whose  power  is  over  all  be  praise ! 

"And  now  we  wish  to  commend  to  you  our 
beloved  friend  Hamad  Jafar,  and  be  it  known 
that  he  goes  to  you  with  our  sanction  and  ap- 
probation and  that  you  have  our  full  and  free 
permission  to  agree  to  all  that  he  proposes ;  and 
we  wish  hereby  to  absolve  you  from  all  obliga- 
tions brought  upon  you  by  a  vow  made  many 
years  ago ;  for  we  believe  that  its  end  has  now 
been  accomplished  and  its  bond  is  now  loosened 
by  the  power  of  the  Gracious  One  in  whose 
hands  are  all  the  events  of  our  lives.  And  now 
with  messages  of  peace  to  all  who  ask  after  our 
welfare,  may  you  be  preserved  in  health  and 
safety. 

"Your  brother,  Aziz." 


Zahra  listened  with  face  buried  in  her  hands, 
and  after  the  reading  had  ceased,  she  remained 
in  the  same  position,  trembling  and  sobbing. 
Hamad  Jafar  stood  with  folded  arms  in  silent 
respect  until  she  grew  calmer. 

Then  he  spoke :  "It  was  at  my  request  that 
your  brother  wrote  to  you;  you  see  he  is  my 
friend.  I  have  spoken  to  your  aunt  again,  and 
with  your  permission  she  has  agreed  to  meet 
me  with  you  to-morrow  morning  at  dawn  by 
the  great  rock  that  stands  alone  by  the  sea  and 


Glances  through  the  Lattice  120 

we  will  go  together  to  the  city  and  make  all 
right.    Will  you  agree?    Say  the  word." 

"If  God  wills,  I  will  agree,  but  give  me  time 
to  think,"  answered  Zahra  softly. 

"Forgive  me  for  speaking,"  he  said.  "I 
know  it  is  against  the  customs  of  our  people; 
but  our  position  is  so  peculiar.  You  did  not 
know  it,  but  I  saw  you  in  your  grief  at  your 
father's  funeral,  and  from  that  time  I  have  felt 
as  though  I  had  always  known  you.  My  heart 
called  out  to  you,  'Come  to  me !'  " 

Zahra  hurried  home  with  wildly  beating 
heart;  no  wonder,  in  one  moment  to  be  swept 
from  a  past  of  self-renunciation,  from  a  future 
of  blankness,  perhaps  starvation,  by  this  new 
strange  possibility.  Could  human  sympathy, 
companionship,  love,  be  hers?  She  must  have 
time  to  think.  She  turned  off  from  the  direct 
path,  toward  her  favorite  nook — a  cavern 
joined  to  the  sea  by  a  rocky  channel,  through 
which  the  waves  roared  magnificently.  She 
covered  her  face  once  more  and  seemed  to  see 
again  Hamad's  earnest  look,  with  its  pledge  of 
sympathy. 

When  she  raised  her  face  again,  it  was  with 
a  new  radiance  of  expression,  and,  stretching 


121  The  Child  of  a.  Vow 

her  two  clasped  hands  toward  the  setting  sun, 
she  prayed: 

"O  God,  when  this  sun  rises,  I  may  be  no 
longer  a  Nazarite.  Grant,  oh,  I  pray,  if  I  am 
doing  wrong,  that  the  punishment  may  fall  on 
me,  not  my  brother." 

As  her  words  ceased,  a  black  cloud  swept 
across  the  face  of  the  sun,  and,  to  Zahra's  over- 
wrought mind,  it  seemed  heaven's  sudden  an- 
swer to  her  prayer,  an  answer  not  of  peace, 
but  of  warning  and  rebuke.  She  gazed  trem- 
bling while  a  coldness  and  weakness  crept  over 
her  and  she  fell  upon  the  ground.  It  was  long 
before  she  could  think  coherently,  and  when  she 
rose,  her  face  was  gray  with  the  gray  twilight 
and  her  voice  was  dry  and  hollow. 

"O  God,  forgive  me,"  she  murmured,  "for 
even  thinking  of  being  untrue  to  my  vow.  I 
am  going  away  now.  Keep  me  and  give  me 
strength  in  the  knowledge  that  I  am  still  pre- 
serving the  life  of  one  so  dear  to  me." 

The  next  morning,  when  Hamad  and  her 
aunt  came  to  the  rock  to  meet  her,  Zahra  had 
disappeared. 


E 


NSIGNSUPON  THE  MOUNTAINS 


X  A  Lebanon  Rachel 

XI  A  Village  Iconoclast 

XII  Hid  Treasure 

XIII  Nimrs  Kussis 


X 

A  LEBANON 
RACHEL 


&**+- 


LITTLE  Rahil  had  been  sent  up  the 
mountainside  to  tend  the  goats.  She 
was  now  thirteen,  a  little  young  ac- 
cording to  Western  ideas,  a  little  old  according 
to  Eastern,  to  wander  over  Lebanon  hillsides 
alone.  Probably  the  first  Rachel,  for  whom 
she  was  named,  was  about  this  age  when  she 
went  to  water  her  father's  sheep  and  met  her 
Jacob.  Had  Laban's  daughter  been  older,  it 
is  likely  that  she  would  have  been  kept  at 
home. 

Rahil's  goats  wandered  at  large  over  the 
mountain.  They  leaped  from  rock  to  rock,  at 
dizzy  heights,  holding  their  four  feet  together 
and  bending  their  pretty  horned  heads,  while 
deciding  where  next  to  alight.     Their  little 

123 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  124 

mistress,  all  unheeding,  sat  in  the  shadow  of  a 
great  rock,  at  her  side  a  figure  that  had  not 
entered  into  the  program  planned  by  her 
parents,  a  finely-built  lad  in  hunting  dress, 
playing  a  shepherd's  pipe.  Rahil  listened 
dreamily. 

Suddenly  Amin  threw  down  his  pipe  and 
said :  "Rahil,  I  am  going  away  on  a  long  hunt- 
ing trip.  You  must  not  forget  me  while  I  am 
gone.  I  want  you  to  wear  this  till  I  come 
back." 

Amin  fumbled  in  the  folds  of  his  blouse  and 
drew  out  a  massive  silver  bracelet.  Rather 
awkwardly  and  shyly  he  put  it  upon  Rahil's 
arm.  She  turned  scarlet  and  worked  her  bare 
toes  in  the  gravel.  He  knew,  and  she  knew, 
that  all  this  was  very  improper. 

"Rahil,"  continued  Amin,  "I  should  not  say 
this  to  you  myself,  but  when  I  come  back  from 
the  hunt  I  am  going  to  send  my  cousin  to  your 
father,  asking  him  to  give  you  to  me." 

Rahil  raised  her  head  with  a  look  as  shy  and 
strange  as  that  of  her  wild  mountain  goats. 
"Do  you  forget,"  she  said,  "the  quarrel  between 
your  family  and  mine?  If  they  knew  that  I 
saw  you  here,  they  would  kill  me." 


125  A  Lebanon  Rachel 

Amin  sighed;  then  grew  fierce.  "Some  day 
I  will  come  and  carry  you  away  by  force." 

They  sat  on  together  for  some  time,  neither 
saying  much.  Suddenly  Rahil  sprang  to  her 
feet  in  terror. 

"See!  the  sun  has  set  and  I  have  not  called 
my  goats." 

With  loud,  musical  voice,  she  gathered  the 
flock.  They  streamed  down  the  mountain  in 
a  straight  line,  like  a  black  cascade.  Rahil 
could  hardly  count  more  than  her  ten  fingers, 
but  she  noted  with  keen  intelligence  each  famil- 
iar creature,  as  it  bounded  toward  her,  snorting 
a  greeting  to  its  little  mistress.  As  the  last 
one  appeared,  she  wrung  her  hands. 

"O  Amin !  the  little  one,  the  youngest,  is  not 
here ;  the  bears  will  eat  him  and  I  am  afraid  to 
hunt  among  the  rocks  to  find  him."  Amin 
looked  delighted. 

"No  bears  are  a  match  for  me.  Wait  and  I 
will  bring  him."  He  took  up  the  gun  which 
he  had  thrown  on  the  ground  and  scrambled 
nimbly  up  the  mountainside.  He  had  noticed 
that  some  of  the  goats  had  come  down  a  steep 
fissure.  He  followed  this  up  as  it  narrowed  to- 
ward the  summit,  and  soon  heard  the  plaintive 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  126 

call  of  the  lost  animal.  He  shouted  to  it  reas- 
suringly. It  tried  to  come  to  him,  but  was  held 
by  a  bramble.  He  loosed  it  gently  and  tried 
to  soothe  its  wild  panting  as  he  carried  it  back. 
He  found  Rahil  almost  as  much  frightened. 
She  took  the  creature  eagerly  from  his  arms 
and  carried  it  in  her  bosom.  "Peace  to  your 
hands  and  your  feet,"  she  said  gratefully;  "and 
now  I  must  go." 

Amin  once  more  seized  the  wrist  that  wore 
the  bracelet,  kissed  it  fervently  and  hurried  up 
the  mountain.  Rahil  bounded  down  the  rocks, 
her  heart  throbbing  every  moment  more  wildly 
with  fear. 

It  was  dark  when  she  gathered  the  goats  into 
the  recess  in  the  front  part  of  the  house  and 
stumbled  over  their  black  bodies  to  the  open 
living  room  beyond.  The  weather  was  growing 
cold  and  Rahil's  mother  had  built  a  fire  of  sticks 
in  the  middle  of  the  mud  floor.  She  was  now 
stirring  some  onions  in  a  frying-pan,  placed 
upon  a  coal  grate  at  one  side  of  the  large  fire. 
The  onion  fumes,  mingled  with  the  smoke, 
which  tried  vainly  to  escape  from  holes  near 
the  ceiling,  prevented  the  mother  at  first  from 
noticing  Rahil.     The  child  stood  before  her, 


127  A  Lebanon  Rachel 

nervously  twitching  her  ever-expressive  toes. 
She  looked  to  the  ceiling  and  noticed  how  black 
the  poplar  beams  were  growing  from  the 
smoke. 

"O  St.  Elias!"  she  breathed,  "when  will  my 
mother  look  at  me?"  Her  hand  played  with 
the  new  bracelet  concealed  beneath  her  sleeve. 
She  did  not  notice  that  in  her  scramble  down 
the  hill  she  had  torn  the  sleeve  at  the  elbow. 
A  silver  gleam  shot  through  the  rent  and 
caught  her  mother's  attention. 

"Rami,  what  have  you  there?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Rahil,  pushing  the  trinket 
up  her  arm. 

"Your  home  be  destroyed!  You  have," 
cried  her  mother,  seizing  her.  Rahil  struggled 
and  screamed;  like  a  little  wild  animal  she 
kicked  and  bit  in  her  rage,  but  the  stronger 
woman  conquered  and  drew  the  bracelet  off 
Rahil's  arm  and  hid  it  in  the  folds  of  her  own 
girdle. 

"Who  gave  it  to  you?"  she  demanded,  hold- 
ing Rahil's  wrists. 

"My  uncle's  wife,"  said  Rahil  unblushingly. 

"You  liar!  You  daughter  of  a  liar!"  cried 
the  mother  furiously,  "you  cannot  deceive  me. 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  128 

That  son  of  a  dog,  Amin,  whose  father  insulted 
your  father,  has  given  it  to  you." 

Rahil's  childish  figure  straightened  with  the 
dignity  of  conscious  right.  She  threw  back 
her  head  and  answered : 

"Yes,  Amin  gave  it  to  me,  and  he  is  coming 
afterward  to  ask  for  me." 

Her  mother  shrieked,  "For  shame!  for 
shame!  Oh,  that  I  had  died  without  the  dis- 
grace of  my  daughter  choosing  a  husband  for 
herself!" 

"Mother,"  pleaded  Rahil,  "do  you  not  love 
my  father?" 

"Of  course  I  do,"  she  replied,  "because  he  is 
my  cousin.  But  I  never  saw  him  before  we 
were  married.  I  lived  in  Zaidan  and  he  in  this 
distant  Ain  Ata.  When  my  father  came  home 
and  said  he  had  betrothed  me  to  my  cousin 
Selim,  I  covered  my  face  with  my  veil  and 
bowed  my  head  and  said,  'Let  my  parents  do 
with  me  as  they  see  best.'  " 

"But,  mother,  if  you  had  liked  some  one 
else?" 

Her  mother  cried  aloud  with  horror,  beat  her 
breast,  tore  her  hair  and  burst  into  a  torrent  of 
weeping.     She  crouched  upon  the  floor,  bury- 


129  A  Lebanon  Rachel 

ing  her  face  on  her  knees  and  swaying  her  body 
back  and  forth.  Suddenly  her  husband  ap- 
peared.   She  greeted  him  with  a  fresh  shriek. 

"What  devil's  performance  is  this?"  he  thun- 
dered. "Stop  this  noise  and  listen  to  me." 
The  two  women  cowered  in  silence  before  him. 

"I  am  tired  of  turning  my  house  into  Gehen- 
nem,"  he  said,  "and  I  have  found  a  way  to  stop 
it.  This  morning  Nakhi  the  muleteer  asked 
me  to  give  him  Rahil  for  his  son  Mitri,  so  I 
went  to  my  older  brother's  house  and  we  called 
together  all  the  men  of  the  family  and  settled 
the  matter.  He  wants  Rahil  in  fifteen  days, 
so  you  hurry  and  have  things  ready." 

Raliil's  face  was  blanched  with  dismay. 
"You  cannot  make  me  marry!"  she  cried.  "I 
hate  Mitri." 

"You  she-demon!  Look  out  how  you  an- 
swer your  father,"  he  roared.  "I  am  going 
back  to  your  uncle's  to  tell  him  that  all  will  be 
ready."  He  disappeared,  discreetly  dreading 
a  struggle. 

Rahil  burst  into  frantic  tears  and  threw  her- 
self at  her  mother's  feet,  kissing  them  and 
clasping  them  in  her  arms  imploringly. 

Her  mother  lifted  her  up.    "My  heart's  be- 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  130 

loved !  My  two  eyes !  Don't  cry !  I  don't  like 
Mitri  either — oh,  my  child !  This  is  your  pun- 
ishment for  your  boldness !" 

Rahil  clung  to  her.  "Make  my  father  change 
his  word." 

"If  I  only  could!"  groaned  the  mother. 

When  her  husband  returned,  she  entreated 
and  wept — to  no  avail.  He  grew  angry  and 
struck  her.  He  did  not  mean  to  be  unkind,  but 
women  were  ignorant  and  he  knew  no  other 
way  to  restrain  them.  Rahil  trembled  in  a 
heap  on  the  floor. 

The  mother  rose  to  take  down  the  sleeping 
pallets  of  the  family  from  the  recess  in  the  wall 
where  they  were  piled.  Once  more  she  was 
choked  with  tears,  the  very  mud  plastering 
brought  back  a  flood  of  recollection  of  their 
simple  peasant  life.  Rahil  herself  had  polished 
the  floor  and  wall  with  a  smooth  stone  till  they 
shone  like  marble;  together  they  had  traced 
the  patterns  round  the  borders  of  the  recess, 
and  above  was  the  elaborate  lattice-work  which 
the  mother  had  woven  with  sticks  and  daubed 
with  the  clay  that  Rahil  handed  up  to  her. 
Crude  reminders  these  of  a  witch  of  a  maiden, 
smeared  to  the  elbows  and  knees  with  mud :  but 


131  A  Lebanon  Rachel 

the  mother  remembered  the  clear-cut  olive  face 
framed  in  its  red  kerchief,  and  she  knew  that 
there  were  no  more  shining  brown  eyes  in  Leb- 
anon than  those  which  looked  up  at  her 
through  tangled  locks.  The  mother  spread  the 
pallets  upon  the  floor  and  arranged  the  pillows 
and  padded  quilts;  the  family  disposed  them- 
selves upon  them,  with  no  ceremony  of  altering 
their  usual  clothing. 

Rahil  lay  motionless,  with  sobbing  breath, 
for  hours.  The  fire  died  down  to  a  heap  of 
embers,  which  glowed  red  against  the  streaks 
of  blue  moonlight  breaking  through  the  cracks 
of  the  door.  Rahil  watched  the  sleeping  goats, 
surrounded  with  a  warm  steam  from  their  own 
bodies ;  they  helped  more  than  the  fire  to  heat 
the  house.  The  air  was  suffocating,  though 
she  was  not  conscious  of  it.  Why  do  the  poor 
of  all  lands  discard  the  one  luxury  free  to 
them — fresh  air? 

Perhaps  it  was  the  closeness  which  at  last 
became  unbearable  to  Rahil.  She  slipped  out 
from  under  her  quilt,  stepped  carefully  over 
the  goats,  and  went  out.  The  moon  was  glori- 
ous with  a  brilliance  never  seen  in  Western 
lands.    Now  that  the  fire  was  out  of  view,  the 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  132 

moonlight  looked  no  longer  blue,  but  a  rich 
gold ;  it  poured  upon  the  crags,  and  made  them 
seem  like  enchanted  beings  starting  from 
blackness  of  darkness.  Rahil  looked  up  to  the 
mountainside  where  she  had  spent  that  beauti- 
ful afternoon. 

"O  sweet  Virgin!"  she  gasped,  beating  her 
breast,  "why  must  I  be  so  miserable!" 

She  raised  her  arms  with  frantic  eagerness 
toward  the  calm-faced  moon,  the  pure  natural- 
ness of  the  motion  more  eloquent  than  words. 
With  the  abandonment  of  misery  she  threw 
herself  full  length  upon  the  ground,  her  arms 
stretched  out  above  her  head.  There  her  father 
found  her  at  dawn,  in  the  same  attitude;  he 
picked  her  up  in  his  arms,  numb  from  the  cold, 
and  in  a  state  of  mental  apathy.  He  laid  her 
tenderly  upon  her  pallet  and  covered  her  well. 
She  drank  the  herb  concoctions  which  her 
mother  poured  down  her  throat,  and  let  them 
do  with  her  as  they  would. 

"Rahil,"  said  her  father,  "do  you  remember 
how  often  you  have  begged  to  visit  your 
mother's  family  in  Zaidan?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Rahil  wearily. 

"You  know  I  always  told  you  that  it  was  too 


133  A  Lebanon  Rachel 

expensive  and  too  far  away  to  send  you,  a 
whole  day's  journey." 

"Yes,"  repeated  RahiL 

"Now  I  have  decided  to  let  you  go — if  you 
will  marry  Mitri." 

"I  will  do  whatever  you  say,  father." 

"Nobly  said,  my  child ;  I  knew  that  my  little 
girl  would  not  willingly  dishonor  her  parents." 

He  held  out  the  back  of  his  hand  and  Rahil 
kissed  it,  then  raised  it  to  her  forehead,  the  act 
of  submission  taught  to  all  Oriental  children. 
And  thus  the  child  was  bribed.  Zaidan,  a  col- 
lection of  flat-roofed  houses,  ranged  like  stairs 
upon  the  sides  of  a  Lebanon  gorge,  was  the 
metropolis  of  her  little  world,  her  Paris.  She 
went,  riding  upon  a  mule,  her  sleeping-pallet 
over  the  pack-saddle,  her  wardrobe  rolled  up 
in  a  square  of  patchwork,  hanging  at  her  side. 
She  came  back  to  her  lonely  village  dazed  by 
the  sight  of  many  people  coming  and  going,  of 
the  market-place  crowded  with  gaily  decked 
camels,  with  bales  of  goods,  with  display  of 
fruits  and  sweetmeats.  She  carried  back  with 
her  presents  of  raisins  and  fig-paste,  and  her 
grandfather's  gift  to  her — a  purple  satin  gown, 
brocaded  with  yellow  flowers. 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  134 

Then  came  the  wedding.  The  house  was  a 
buzz  of  preparation  for  the  entertainment  of 
relatives  from  a  distance.  The  paved  yard 
resounded  with  the  pounding  of  meat  and  dried 
wheat  into  a  pulp  for  the  favorite  national 
dish — kibbeh.  Vegetable  marrows  were 
scooped  out  and  stuffed  with  savory  rice  and 
meat.  Other  portions  of  the  rice  were  wrapped 
with  infinite  pains  in  the  leaves  of  the  grape- 
vine and  cabbage.  Over  everything  was  a  rich 
dressing  of  butter  and  fat.  The  cooking  was 
all  done  over  earthen  grates  out-of-doors, 
where  space  and  light  were  available. 

When  the  bride's  veil  was  put  on,  she  was 
made  to  fold  her  hands  and  close  her  eyes,  and 
in  this  attitude  she  was  kept  for  the  greater 
part  of  eight  days.  A  doleful  imprisonment 
for  the  gazelle-footed  child  who  had  bounded 
all  her  life  over  the  mountains!  Her  latent 
feminine  vanity  was  her  only  solace.  Truly  this 
"being  a  bride"  was  the  great  occasion  of  her 
life,  for  which  she  and  every  other  little  girl  in 
Syria  had  been  brought  up  from  babyhood; 
now  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was  of 
some  importance.  She  was  the  subject  of  these 
shrill  songs  of  greeting  which  the  women  were 


135  A  Lebanon  Rachel 

chanting,  and  for  her  the  men  played  musical 
instruments  and  danced  outside.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  her  dark  blue  rags  were  dis- 
carded ;  and  for  what  magnificence !  She  patted 
the  yellow  satin  on  her  lap  and  sighed  to  think 
how  pleased  Amin  would  have  been  to  see  her 
in  it.  If  he  were  only  here!  Poor  child!  how 
could  she  know  how  hopelessly  that  yellow  gar- 
ment cut  her  off  from  the  old  life  and  associa- 
tions! 

She  grew  rather  weary  as  the  festivities  wore 
on,  and  was  glad  when  the  last  relatives  rolled 
up  their  bundles  for  the  morning's  departure. 
All  were  busy,  so  she  ventured  to  peep  between 
her  dark  lashes.  Oh,  if  she  could  only  run  out 
of  doors !  She  looked  toward  the  window  and 
her  breath  stopped.  There  was  no  mistaking 
the  haggard  face  and  dark  burning  eyes,  look- 
ing wild  now.  With  a  cry  she  reached  out  her 
arms  and  threw  herself  forward  upon  the 
ground  in  a  paroxysm  of  weeping.  Her 
mother  and  aunts  sprang  to  her  help,  but  could 
find  neither  cause  nor  remedy  for  the  outburst. 
"Call  old  Im  Shehin,"  said  one;  "she  can  cure 
her." 

The  hag  soon  came,  with  her  herbs  and 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  136 

charms.  She  made  a  gesture  of  cunning  with 
her  forefinger. 

"Listen  to  me;  this  is  nothing  but  the  evil 
eye.  Get  a  scrap  of  clothing  from  the  person 
who  has  bewitched  her  and  burn  the  scrap." 

"But  she  has  seen  no  one,"  said  the  mother, 
going  to  the  window;  "not  a  soul  has  been 
near  the  house." 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head  monoto- 
nously. "In  any  case,  make  her  wear  this 
blue  bead  around  her  neck ;  it  will  keep  off  the 
evil  eye  in  the  future." 

In  the  evening  a  figure  like  a  moving  shadow 
sped  away  over  the  mountains  above  the  vil- 
lage. What  a  contrast  now  from  the  day 
when  last  he  leaped  over  these  rocks  and  said 
good-by  to  little  Rahil ! 

"I  know  she  could  not  help  it,"  he  said 
fiercely,  "I  could  see  it  in  her  eyes.  They  have 
torn  her  basely  from  me." 

Amin  reached  his  home  sullen  and  moody. 
For  months  he  refused  to  go  with  his  old  com- 
panions. His  mother  came  to  him  at  last  with 
streaming  eyes. 

"My  son,  my  only  child,  my  soul!     I  can- 


137  A.  Lebanon  Rachel 

not  see  you  grieving  thus.  You  will  not  tell 
me  your  trouble,  and  your  father,  God  show 
him  mercy,  is  no  longer  living  to  help  you. 
But  I  have  prepared  the  way  for  your  happi- 
ness ;  I  have  found  you  a  bride." 

Amin's  response  was  a  curse.  But  the 
mother  was  not  so  easily  daunted.  Her  father, 
the  uncles  on  both  sides  of  the  family,  and 
numerous  cousins,  in  turn  presented  to  Amin 
the  necessity  of  his  becoming  a  householder  in 
his  father's  place.  The  thing  was  inevitable, 
sooner  or  later ;  single  life  outside  of  a  convent 
is  hardly  to  be  thought  of  for  a  man  or  woman 
in  the  East.    So  Amin  consented. 

The  necessary  feasting,  smoking,  and  music 
took  their  proper  places.  The  bride  was 
brought,  and  for  luck  a  lump  of  leaven  was  put 
over  the  doorway  as  she  entered.  And  the 
new  life  began.  Not  a  happy  one  it  proved 
to  be.  The  gaily-decked  bride  soon  developed 
an  unruly  temper,  which  was  vented  first  upon 
her  mother-in-law,  later  on,  in  hideous  contrast 
to  the  devotion  of  most  Syrian  mothers,  upon 
her  own  little  daughter. 

"She  is  a  monster,"  thought  Amin. 

One  day  the  woman  became  infuriated  over 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  138 

some  trifle  and  struck  the  child.  It  was  weeks 
before  the  little  thing  recovered,  and  Amin  no- 
ticed that  she  was  never  strong  again.  When 
she  was  a  year  old  she  sickened  and  died.  Amin 
could  never  rid  himself  of  the  thought  that  the 
blow  had  given  some  internal  injury.  After 
this,  he  took  to  drinking  arak.*  At  the  cafe 
he  could  at  least  listen  undisturbed  to  the 
trickle  of  the  rill  of  water  through  its  stone 
trough.  The  sound  of  running  water  has  an 
indescribable  charm  to  the  Oriental;  so  allur- 
ing it  is  that  where  water  flows  there  carousals 
and  fighting  begin.  One  night  Amin  lingered 
and  drank  more  arak  than  usual.  His  com- 
panions were  discussing  an  expedition  for  the 
next  day  to  the  sacred  grove  of  "Cedars  of 
Lebanon,"  only  a  few  hours'  climb  from  their 
village. 

"You  know  it  is  the  feast  of  St.  Jurjus  to- 
morrow, so  we  shall  be  met  by  young  men  from 
Ain  Ata,  and  have  more  arak  and  more  fun." 
The  speaker  ended  in  a  boozy  song. 

Ain  Ata!  Rahil's  home!  Amin  had  not 
heard  mention  of  the  place  since  that  heart- 

*  A  strong  liquor  used  in  the  East,  distilled  from 
grapes. 


139  A  Lebanon  Rachel 

sickening  night  of  Rahil's  wedding.  He  de- 
cided at  once  to  join  the  expedition  to  the 
Cedars.  The  thought  whirled  in  his  mind: 
"Rahil's  husband  will  be  there;"  but  he  had 
taken  too  much  arak  to  think  coherently.  He 
reached  his  home  after  midnight,  to  find  the 
house  in  worse  than  ordinary  disorder.  His 
wife,  in  an  unusual  effort  at  house-cleaning, 
had  pulled  out  earthenware  barrels,  wooden 
boxes,  and  rude  pieces  of  furniture  from  the 
walls  and  left  them  in  confusion.  Amin  stum- 
bled over  something  as  he  entered;  it  was  the 
empty  cradle  that  had  belonged  to  their  little 
girl.  Amin  smothered  a  curse  and  made  his 
way  to  the  pallet  where  his  wife  slept,  and  stood 
watching  her.  Even  in  sleep,  the  lines  of  un- 
governed  temper  were  deep  upon  her  face.  A 
sudden  resolve  came  over  him. 
"I  shall  go  away  and  never  come  back." 
He  turned  quickly  and  left  the  house.  He 
half  realized  in  his  haste  that  he  overturned  the 
earthen  night  lamp  on  the  floor,  but  he  did  not 
stop  to  make  sure.  He  closed  the  door  noise- 
lessly behind  him  and  stopped  to  think  where 
he  should  go  first.  Oh  yes!  there  was  that 
appointment  at  the  Cedars!    He  toiled  over 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  140 

the  mountain  all  night  and  reached  the  grove 
at  early  dawn,  some  time  before  the  party  from 
his  own  village.  He  stopped  to  rest  at  the 
entrance  of  the  sacred  enclosure.  His  instinc- 
tively religious  mind  was  awed  by  the  stillness 
and  darkness  within,  by  the  massive  tree- 
trunks,  which  had  looked  down  perhaps  upon 
the  workmen  of  Hiram,  King  of  Tyre,  and 
still  stood,  columns  in  this  great  natural  temple 
of  God.  The  trees  spread  out  their  arms,  as 
Amin  thought,  like  one  in  prayer.  The  air 
was  heavy  with  the  aromatic  incense  of  the  tem- 
ple. Amin  entered,  and  his  footsteps  fell 
noiseless  upon  the  springing  carpet  of  cedar 
needles.  Suddenly  a  harsh  sound  cut  through 
the  stillness,  a  coarse  laugh. 

"The  party  from  Ain  Ata  is  here  before  me," 
he  exclaimed,  hurrying  toward  them. 

Before  he  reached  them  their  hilarity  had 
turned  into  a  dispute.  He  saw  one  of  them 
draw  a  knife.  Heavens !  It  was  Mitri,  Rahil's 
husband.  Amin  sprang  upon  him  like  a  moun- 
tain leopard,  caught  the  uplifted  hand,  and 
turned  the  blow  into  Mitri's  own  bosom. 

Amin  sped  away  from  the  grove,  but  even 
as  he  ran  he  shuddered  with  the  thought,  "I 


1 11  A  Lebanon  Rachel 

have  desecrated  the  Temple,  the  Temple  of 
God!" 

By  a  severe  effort,  he  called  back  his  pres- 
ence of  mind,  and  decided  upon  a  way  of  es- 
cape. He  turned  his  way  toward  the  rocky 
ridges  that  led  to  the  top  of  the  Afka  precipice. 
Years  before,  Amin  had  visited  the  world- 
famed  Cave  of  the  Adonis,  at  the  bottom  of  the 
precipice.  Gazing  with  reverent  awe  up  the 
thousand  feet  of  solid  rock  which  tower  above 
it,  his  eye  had  been  arrested  by  a  black  line  be- 
tween two  of  the  strata,  half  way  up.  After 
looking  at  it  from  different  points  of  view 
he  had  made  out  a  second  cave,  smaller  than 
the  Cave  of  the  Adonis;  and  with  a  hunter's 
practised  eye  he  had  traced  a  possible  path  by 
which  one  might  reach  it  from  above.  His 
observing  keenness  stood  him  in  good  stead 
now.  Even  Rahil's  goats  would  have  hesitated 
to  try  the  path  which  he  slung  himself  down. 
From  stratum  to  stratum,  on  slippery  ledges, 
that  seemed  barely  a  foothold  for  the  mountain 
eagle,  he  at  last  worked  his  way  to  the  cave. 
He  threw  himself  upon  the  ground  and 
studied  the  black  walls. 

"This  must  be  my  home  for  some  time  now." 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  142 

He  leaned  over  the  edge  and  looked  down  a 
wall  of  five  hundred  feet  to  the  roaring  falls 
of  the  Adonis ;  then,  grasping  the  tough  stems 
of  a  bush  at  his  cave's  mouth,  he  hung  back 
over  the  precipice,  and  looked  up  the  five  hun- 
dred feet  of  rock  which  he  had  climbed  down. 

"I  shall  have  to  learn  that  path  well,"  he 
meditated.  "I  cannot  bring  much  with  me  at  a 
time." 

He  took  out  from  his  girdle  his  supper  of 
bread  and  cheese  which  he  had  bought  of  some 
Bedouin  Arabs  in  a  high  mountain  valley  on 
the  way.  His  night's  sleep  was  long  and 
sound.  In  the  morning  he  explored  the  inner 
recesses  of  his  cave.  There  were  many  pas- 
sages from  two  to  four  feet  high,  leading  back 
into  the  mountains.  He  found  that  these  com- 
municated with  each  other  and  led  into  one  or 
two  main  arteries.  He  followed  the  largest 
of  these,  on  hands  and  knees,  marking  his  way 
with  peculiar  groupings  of  stones,  by  which  to 
trace  his  way  back  in  the  darkness.  Suddenly 
the  rocks  seemed  to  open  before  him.  He 
struck  one  of  his  much  treasured  matches  and 
found  himself  in  a  marvelous  rock  palace.  "A 
temple  of  stone!"  he  exclaimed.     The  walls 


143  A  Lebanon  Rachel 

glittered  like  diamonds,  with  here  and  there  a 
seam  of  special  brilliance.  He  struck  another 
match  and  found  that  the  gems  were  only 
drops  of  water.  He  did  not  recognize  in  them 
the  wondrous  power  that  had  broken  off  the 
great  limestone  slabs  at  his  feet,  and  carved  out 
the  grotto  itself,  but  he  spent  his  eager  en- 
ergies hunting  for  some  little  pool  where  the 
water  might  collect.  He  found  it  in  a  cor- 
ner. 

"Praise  be  to  Allah!"  he  said  devoutly,  and 
drank  deep  of  the  water. 

He  soon  came  to  feel  at  home  in  his  cave 
dwelling.  He  learned  to  climb  the  rock  path 
with  ease  and  bought  his  slender  supplies  from 
the  wandering  tribes  in  the  mountains.  He 
might  have  lived  there  for  months  but  for  his 
one  self-indulgence.  The  Oriental  can  hardly 
live  without  smoking.  Amin  ventured  down 
after  several  weeks  to  the  village  of  Afka  to 
buy  some  tobacco.  He  was  starting  back  with 
his  supply  when  a  man  at  the  shop  door  seized 
him  by  the  throat. 

"You  are  my  prisoner!" 

Several  others  helped  to  hold  him  down,  and 
Amin  saw  to  his  dismay,  under  the  loose  gown 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  144 

of  his  attacker,  the  police  uniform.  He  was 
soon  handcuffed. 

"You  double  murderer!"  cried  the  officer. 
"Is  it  not  enough  for  you  to  kill  a  man,  without 
putting  an  end  to  your  wife  too?" 

"My  wife!"  gasped  Amin. 

"You  need  not  pretend  such  innocence,"  an- 
swered the  officer.     "Bring  him  on,  zabties!" 

He  was  taken  to  the  central  prison.  On  the 
way  he  succeeded  in  falling  back  a  step  with 
his  zabtie  guard.  He  handed  him  half  of  the 
tobacco  that  he  had  bought. 

"Tell  me,  the  Lord  lengthen  your  life,  what 
do  they  accuse  me  of  doing  to  my  wife?" 

The  guard  looked  contemptuously  at  the 
lump  of  tobacco.  "You  bought  twice  that 
amount." 

"Take  it  all,"  said  Amin;  "only  tell  me." 

The  guard  carefully  concealed  the  tobacco 
and  explained.  "On  the  morning  of  the  Feast 
of  St.  Jurjus,  some  people  passing  your  house 
saw  smoke  coming  out  under  the  door.  They 
found  the  door  unlocked  and  went  in,  but  were 
almost  overpowered  with  the  fumes.  When  it 
had  cleared  a  little,  they  found  heaps  of  black- 
ened and  smoldering  clothing  and  rubbish  on 


145  A  Lebanon  Rachel 

the  floor.  Your  wife  was  lying  on  her  pallet  at 
one  side;  the  fire  had  not  reached  either  her 
or  the  mattress,  but  the  smoke  had  smothered 
her.  People  had  seen  you  going  to  the  house 
and  leaving  it  the  night  before,  so  of  course  all 
know  that  you  lighted  the  fire." 

Amin  bowed  his  head  upon  his  breast.  "Do 
they  accuse  me  of  anything  else?" 

"You  fool!  of  course!  Was  it  any  other 
than  you  who  killed  Mitri  of  Ain  Ata?" 

"I  did  it,  and  saved  another  man,  that  he 
would  have  stabbed,"  cried  Amin,  indignantly. 

"That  very  man  swears  that  Mitri  made  no 
attempt  to  hurt  him,"  said  the  zabtie. 

"When  perjurers  are  against  me,  there  is  no 
hope,"  said  Amin. 

He  was  sentenced  to  the  murderer's  penalty 
by  Turkish  law,  fifteen  years'  imprisonment. 

A  year  later  there  camped  at  Ain  Ata  a  little 
company  of  strangers  from  a  far-distant  land, 
wearing  a  foreign  dress  and  speaking  a  strange 
language  to  each  other.  The  villagers  flocked 
to  see  the  sight  and  watch  the  busy  prepara- 
tions at  the  camp.  The  interest  of  the  women 
was  centered  round  a  novel  sight,  a  "Frangi" 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  146 

lady.  Men  had  been  there  before  in  close- 
fitting  black  clothes  with  a  stiff,  round  head- 
covering  of  straw  or  pith,  but  a  woman  of  that 
strange  race  was  a  curiosity  indeed.  To  their 
surprise,  she  greeted  them  in  their  own  lan- 
guage. They  clustered  round  her  with  a  quaint 
mixture  of  curiosity  and  deference,  examining 
her  dress  in  detail,  and  scrutinizing  her  white 
hands,  never  guessing  that  she,  on  her  part, 
was  looking  with  unmixed  admiration  upon 
their  own  rich  olive  complexions  and  matchless 
eyes. 

A  little  girl  was  patting  the  lady's  hand. 
"You  must  wash  yourself  a  great  deal,"  she 
said.  Another  turned  up  the  cuff  of  her  sleeve. 
"Why,  her  arm  is  white  all  the  way  up  I"  Most 
of  all  they  wondered  at  a  small  gold  filling  in 
her  tooth. 

"See  how  differently  God  has  created  these 
foreigners  from  ourselves  I" 

"Mariam,  run  and  tell  your  grandmother  to 
come  and  see  a  woman  with  a  gold  tooth." 

"Oh,  lady,  please  may  we  touch  it?" 

Some  little  girls  busied  themselves  cracking 
walnuts  and  peeling  off  the  brown  coating  of 
the  kernels ;  then  brought  them,  white  and  ten- 


147  A  Lebanon  Rachel 

der,  to  the  lady.  She  accepted  them  graciously 
from  the  walnut-stained  little  hands. 

"I  wonder  if  you  children  are  fond  of 
stories,"  she  said. 

With  exquisite  simplicity,  she  told  them  tales 
of  child-life  long  ago;  of  one  who  was  hid  in 
the  rushes  by  a  river ;  of  another  who  was  born 
in  a  wayside  khan,  whose  cradle  was  a  manger. 
The  group  slipped  away  at  sunset;  only  one 
young  woman  remained,  one  with  a  sweet,  sor- 
rowful face,  who  had  not  spoken  once. 

"Lady,"  she  said,  "I  am  very  unhappy,  and 
it  comforts  me  to  listen  to  you.  May  I  sit 
here  with  you?  I  have  no  one  waiting  for  me 
at  home." 

"What  is  your  name?"  asked  the  lady. 

"Your  servant  Rahil,"  she  answered.  "I 
used  to  be  a  happy  child,  but  then  strange 
things  happened  to  me,  and  now  my  husband 
is  dead  and  my  little  son,  my  only  joy — O  lady, 
may  God  send  a  son  to  you — my  little  son  is 
dead." 

The  missionary  looked  through  a  mist  across 
the  mountains,  toward  the  distant  city,  where 
in  unhallowed  ground,  in  the  throng  and  dis- 
cord of  unchristian  multitudes,  she  had  left  her 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  148 

own  little  one.  The  woman  of  culture  and  the 
peasant  understood  each  other.  The  two 
talked  long  together.  As  she  left,  Rahil  im- 
plored : 

"Please  send  us  a  teacher  to  our  village." 

"It  ought  to  be  done,"  said  the  lady  to  her 
husband. 

And  so  it  was  done  the  next  winter.  The 
Syrian  teacher  gathered  a  group  of  children 
into  a  dingy  mud  room  in  the  village.  Seated 
cross-legged  in  a  circle  on  the  floor  they  learned 
the  perplexing  elements  of  Arabic  reading  and, 
most  of  all,  Bible  stories  and  Bible  words. 

Most  attentive  among  the  scholars  was  Ra- 
hil. Her  neighbors  j  eered,  of  course,  but  Rahil 
was  too  much  in  earnest  to  heed  them.  She 
applied  herself  with  the  passion  of  a  strong 
nature  and  soon  brought  into  activity  a  rare 
intelligence,  undeveloped  before  for  lack  of 
mental  food.  When  the  Frangi  woman  came 
the  following  summer,  Rahil  told  her  joyously 
that  she  could  now  read. 

"Then  I  must  give  you  a  Towrdh"  (Bible) . 

Rahil  clasped  the  book  with  delight.  The 
next  winter  the  school  could  not  be  reopened, 
but  Rahil  now  had  her  treasure  secure.     As 


149  A  Lebanon  Rachel 

years  went  by,  she  became  the  comforter  of 
the  sorrowful  and  lonely  ones  in  her  village, 
and  many  a  time  she  would  be  called  to  see 
some  sick  one  and  read  from  the  beautiful  book. 

The  end  of  the  fifteenth  year  came.  Rahil 
sat  musing  on  her  rough  stone  doorstep. 
There  was  nothing  in  her  immediate  surround- 
ings to  attract,  no  mingling  of  trees  and  shrub- 
bery among  the  houses,  all  glare  and  bleak- 
ness. 

Rahil  looked  across  the  tiny  enclosure  of 
white  clay  and  stones  that  formed  her  front 
yard.  Beside  her  was  the  earthen  jar  that  she 
carried  twice  a  day  to  fill  at  the  stream.  A 
few  cooking  implements  were  also  at  hand. 
Her  spindle  lay  unused  in  her  lap.  These 
things  formed  her  life. 

"And  yet  they  are  not  my  real  life,"  she  said 
to  herself.    Just  then  a  shadow  fell  at  her  feet. 

"Rahil,  is  this  you?"  The  voice  was  the  old 
voice. 

"Amin!  have  you  come  to  me  from  the 
dead?" 

The  sun  fell  full  upon  his  face  and  seemed 
to  glorify  it.  It  was  thus  indeed  that  she  had 
thought  of  him  for  all  these  years.    A  solemn 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  150 

silence,  as  of  those  who  meet  in  another  world, 
fell  upon  them  both. 

An  hour  later  Amin  drew  from  his  bosom  a 
book.  "Rahil,"  he  said,  "you  will  find  me 
changed.  While  I  was  iu  prison  a  man  came 
to  me  with  this." 

"The  Holy  Towrah!"  exclaimed  Rahil,  and 
running  joyfully  into  the  house,  brought  her 
own  much  loved  volume  and  laid  it  in  Amin's 
hand. 


XI 

A  VILLAGE 
ICONOCLAST 


IN  a  remote  valley  among  the  Lebanon 
mountains,  standing  midway  between  arid 
gray  cliffs  above  and  lines  of  carefully 
cultivated  green  terraces  below,  gleamed  a 
small,  flat-roofed  village  church.  From  the 
awkward  little  belfry  over  the  door  the  bell- 
rope  hung  down  against  the  outer  wall,  and  the 
small  boys  commissioned  to  ring  for  the  service 
were  delighting  themselves  with  many  unneces- 
sary jangles  as  they  pulled. 

The  people  gathered  slowly  in  the  square  of 
dust  and  stones  before  the  church,  forming  into 
somewhat  stolid  groups,  as  people  of  a  very 
uneventful  life  are  apt  to  do.  But  there  was 
a  little  stir  of  interest  and  deference  at  the 

151 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  152 

approach  of  a  striking  figure,  a  man,  tall  and 
spare,  leaning  slightly  upon  his  stick  and 
clothed  in  the  usual  dark  blue  garments  of 
the  mountaineer,  but  distinguished  even  in 
the  bending  of  his  white  head  by  the  dignity 
of  a  thinker  and  in  his  clear-cut  face  by  the 
purity  of  those  who  spiritually  discern. 

"That  is  Abu  Nameh,"  said  one,  pointing 
him  out  to  a  stranger  from  a  distant  village. 
"He  is  the  man  who  decides  all  our  perplexities 
and  settles  all  our  disputes." 

"I  have  heard  of  him,"  answered  the 
stranger,  trying  to  catch  a  last  glimpse  as  the 
old  man  passed  into  the  church.  "They  tell 
me  that  he  is  so  holy  that,  when  he  walks 
abroad,  the  church  bells  ring  of  their  own  ac- 
cord, and  the  sheep  grazing  on  the  uplands  fall 
down  upon  their  knees." 

The  villager  continued  warmly,  "None  has 
upheld  our  holy  church  and  blessed  saints  like 
Abu  Nameh,  and  may  I  never  again  see  any 
one  so  broken-hearted  as  he  was  when  his  own 
son  became  a  heretic." 

"In  the  name  of  the  cross!"  exclaimed  the 
stranger. 

"You  may  call  his  son  heretic,"  rejoined  an- 


153  A  Village  Iconoclast 

other  speaker,  "if  that  is  what  his  new  doctrine 
makes  him,  but  I  have  been  over  to  the  mission 
school  to  hear  him  preach,  and  I  tell  you,  if 
you  wish  to  hear  the  holy  words  of  a  prophet 
come  back  to  earth,  go  and  listen  to  Nameh, 
son  of  Abu  Nameh.  His  father  still  refuses 
to  go  and  hear  him,  but  I  know  this,  that  Abu 
Nameh  spends  all  his  days  reading  in  his  son's 
Bible,  and,  give  me  your  mind!  you  will  some 
day  find  that  Abu  Nameh  is  as  much  heretic 
as  his  son." 

The  speakers  were  now  swept  forward  into 
the  church  with  the  rest  of  the  people,  and  the 
monotonously  intoned  service  proceeded.  Few 
attempted  to  listen,  some  whispered  together, 
others  stood  with  folded  arms,  passive,  content 
that  their  physical  presence  could  insure  them 
a  part  in  the  general  distribution  of  spiritual 
blessings. 

The  final  words  of  the  service  had  melted 
away,  the  little  chorister-boy,  with  tense  throat, 
had  warbled  his  last  shrill  "Kyrie  eleison,"  the 
cloud  of  heavy  incense  spreading  over  the 
bowed  heads  of  the  congregation  as  one  and 
another  knelt  for  a  parting  blessing  before  the 
pictures  of  the  saints. 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  154 

Suddenly  the  hush  was  broken  by  a  com- 
manding voice :  "Brothers,  I  have  come  to  you 
with  a  message  from  God." 

All  turned  startled  toward  the  speaker,  none 
other  than  Abu  Nameh.  He  raised  a  hand 
seamed  and  withered  as  a  cactus-leaf  at  the  end 
of  the  long  summer  drought.  "Brothers,  last 
night  I  saw  a  vision.  I  seemed  to  be  walking 
by  myself  over  the  hillside  and  I  bent  my  steps 
toward  the  church  and  entered  and  beheld  a 
wondrous  sight.  Around  these  walls  were  bent 
in  many  sad  and  drooping  attitudes  the  saints, 
each  gazing  sorrowfully  upon  his  own  rude  pic- 
ture as  a  man  may  look  into  a  glass  to  see  his 
face.  And  many  in  that  holy  company  were 
wringing  their  hands  with  grief,  and  I  heard 
cries  of  anguish  and  now  and  then  I  caught 
such  words  as  these:  'O  Lord,  how  long?  Wo 
unto  us  that  we,  unwilling,  should  be  the  means 
of  drawing  human  prayer  away  from  God!' 
And  all  at  once,  as  though  by  one  deep,  moving 
impulse,  they  bent  forward,  each  lifting  up  his 
picture  in  his  arms,  and  laden  thus  they  glided 
forward  in  a  silent,  strange  procession.  Pass- 
ing through  the  doorway,  they  wound  their 
phantom  way  down  by  the  foot-path  leading  to 


155  A  Village  Iconoclast 

the  village  sepulcher.  I  followed,  filled  with 
awe,  and  saw  them  reach  the  dreary  hut,  the 
door  opening  to  them  of  itself,  and  they  en- 
tered in  the  same  unbroken  line,  and  round  the 
walls  they  placed  their  gilded  pictures,  facing 
the  dead.  This  done,  they  swiftly  drew  to- 
gether, and  I  seemed  to  feel  the  air  move  as 
they  passed  me,  sweeping  upward  as  a  cloud 
to  heaven." 

Abu  Nameh  paused,  his  face  intent  with  a 
rapt  gaze,  still  beholding  the  glorious  vision. 
"It  is  a  heavenly  message,"  he  continued,  in 
an  altered  voice  as  though  speaking  from  a 
great  distance,  "I  dare  not  disobey."  Then, 
shuddering  as  though  to  call  himself  back  to 
earth,  he  rang  out  the  last  words:  "I  cannot 
enter  this  church  again  until  the  pictures  are 
taken  away."  He  bent  his  head  upon  his 
breast  and  passed  swiftly  out. 

The  stir  produced  in  the  village  by  this  re- 
markable discourse  was  without  a  precedent. 
Abu  Nameh!  The  staunch  upholder  of  holy 
tradition!  What  change  was  this?  His  only 
answer  was,  "Look  in  God's  Book!"  and  the 
villagers,  thus  baffled,  were  thrown  back  upon 
the  few  among  their  number  who  could  read. 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  156 

Around  the  shops  of  these  men  of  sudden  emi- 
nence would  collect  a  crowd  of  eager  debaters, 
and  passages  were  searched  out  and  dis- 
cussed with  a  keenness  amazing  to  any  one 
disposed  to  patronize  the  simplicity  of  the 
peasant. 

To  Abu  Nameh  himself  it  was  a  period  of 
anxious  perplexity.  It  was  no  small  crisis  for 
a  man  of  his  age  to  turn  against  what  had 
always  been  to  him  most  sacred.  After  his  first 
bitter  grief,  years  ago,  over  his  son's  embracing 
the  simpler  faith  and  worship  (taught  by  the 
missionaries) ,  he  had  given  himself  to  the  study 
of  these  questions,  and  year  by  year  his  vision 
had  grown  deeper,  and  he  saw  new  truths  un- 
fold. True,  they  were  colored  by  the  teachings 
of  the  sect  in  which  he  had  been  reared,  as  one 
may  see  a  landscape  through  the  tinted  win- 
dows of  a  church.  Abu  Nameh,  loyal  to  his 
training  and  his  generation,  would  never  leave 
his  sect.  Of  this  he  gave  assurance  to  his  peo- 
ple many  times,  and  even  his  son,  Nameh,  child 
of  the  new  dispensation,  was  content  to  have 
it  so;  the  same  church  that  had  blessed  him  in 
his  baptism  should  rear  its  cross  above  his 
sepulcher.    But  this  same  church,  he  assured 


157  A  Village  Iconoclast 

his  people  with  a  seer's  confidence,  should 
change — had  changed  already  through  the 
heart-convictions  of  thousands  of  her  follow- 
ers ;  and,  in  the  future,  should  she  hope  to  lead 
their  lives  as  she  had  led  them  in  the  past,  she 
would  have  to  throw  aside  the  time-worn  outer 
garments  of  her  journey,  that  the  impenetrable 
armor  of  her  first  faith  might  shine  forth  in  its 
strength. 

Weeks  had  now  passed  since  Abu  Nameh's 
message  had  been  delivered,  and  the  services 
which  followed,  deprived  of  his  devout  pres- 
ence, seemed  without  a  soul.  It  was  the  eve  of 
the  great  annual  feast,  the  celebration  of  St. 
Helena's  finding  of  the  true  cross.  Deep  grief 
had  settled  upon  the  spirit  of  Abu  Nameh, 
even  the  pain  of  estrangement  from  his  own 
people,  for  this  was  the  first  time  in  his  long 
life  in  the  village  that  he  should  be  absent  from 
the  solemn  services  of  the  Feast  of  the  Cross. 

His  thoughts  were  far  away,  although  he 
mechanically  joined  the  family  group  assem- 
bled for  the  evening  celebration  on  their  flat 
housetop.  On  the  roofs  about  them  were  other 
groups,  all  like  themselves  with  a  gathered 
heap  of  brushwood  to  be  lighted  in  memory 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  158 

of  the  signal-fires  which  carried  St.  Helena's 
message  of  the  finding  of  the  cross  at  Jeru- 
salem across  the  hilltops  to  Constantinople. 
From  the  valley  below  rose  the  sweet  discord 
of  many  church  bells,  and  presently  the  distant 
fires  began  to  twinkle  out,  one  after  another, 
from  the  dusk,  each  with  its  red  column  of 
smoke — the  gathering  constellations  of  light 
marking  the  different  villages  of  the  valley. 
Suddenly  a  crown  of  fire  broke  out  upon  the 
summit  of  the  opposite  mountain,  far  above 
the  level  of  human  dwelling,  showing  the  fel- 
lowship of  the  distant  goatherds  in  the  me- 
morial. 

Abu  Nameh's  grandchildren,  despite  their 
Protestant  rearing,  soon  had  their  own  fire 
cracking  merrily,  while  they  danced  about  it 
like  gleeful  sprites.  But  the  fitful  light  thrown 
upon  the  face  of  Abu  Nameh  showed  only  an 
expression  of  deepest  pain.  He  watched  the 
red  light  die  down  at  his  feet  and  likewise  the 
smoldering  sparks  scattered  over  the  valley, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  a  type  of  his  efforts  to 
enlighten  his  people.  He  was  gazing  sadly 
into  the  embers,  too  absorbed  to  notice  voices 
below,  when  a  little  hand  slipped  into  his. 


159  A  Village  Iconoclast 

"Grandfather,  the  men  have  come  to  tell  you 
that  they  will  celebrate  the  feast  to-morrow 
by  taking  away  the  pictures." 

The  next  day,  the  Feast  of  the  Cross  was 
kept  in  a  way  that  had  never  been  heard  of 
before.  The  church-members  formed  in  pro- 
cession as  for  a  funeral,  some  carrying  the  holy 
pictures,  others  bearing  lighted  candles  and 
waving  incense  before  them.  They  wended 
their  way  round  the  hills  to  the  lonely  "House 
of  the  Dead,"  the  common  village  sepulcher 
used  so  generally  in  the  mountains.  The  pic- 
tures were  reverently  carried  in,  placed  against 
the  walls  with  candles  and  incense  before  them, 
and  there  they  were  left  with  the  dead.  The 
procession  then  wound  back  to  the  emptied 
church,  through  which  the  fresh  Lebanon 
breezes  now  blew  as  untrammeled  as  through 
a  Puritan  meeting-house.  Some  of  the  people 
were  terror-stricken  at  what  they  had  done, 
but  the  large  number  felt,  though  dimly,  that 
somehow  they  stood  more  closely  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  unseen  God. 

Presently  there  was  a  stir  in  the  crowd  and 
all  made  way  for  the  aged  but  erect  form  of 
Abu  Nameh,  among  them  again  for  the  first 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  160 

- 

time  in  many  weeks,  his  face  glorified  with  a 
new  joy.  At  that  moment  a  ray  of  sunshine 
struck  through  the  window  above  the  door, 
covered  until  now  by  the  largest  of  the  gilded 
pictures.  The  ray  touched  the  bared  head  of 
Abu  Nameh  and  lingered  like  a  blessing  upon 
his  white  hair.  To  the  people  watching  awe- 
struck it  seemed  a  halo,  and  they  realized  that 
in  place  of  their  dead  saints  they  had  gained 
a  living  one. 


XII 
HID  TREASURE 


IT  was  one  of  the  bleakest  and  steepest  of 
Syrian  hillsides,  a  jagged  mass  of  rocks 
unvaried  save  at  the  summit,  far  over- 
head, where  one  solitary  column  of  unhewn 
stones  stood  against  the  sky.  It  was  piled 
there,  probably,  to  frighten  away  jackals,  but 
from  what,  it  was  difficult  to  say,  as  no  sign  of 
human  abode  or  cultivation  was  to  be  seen. 

Not  unfitted  to  the  wild  surroundings  was 
the  hardy  figure  of  a  girl  making  her  way 
boldly  over  the  rocks.     She  was  about  four- 

161 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  162 

teen,  firmly  built  and  erect,  with  the  poise 
which  only  a  mountain  woman  who  has  car- 
ried a  jar  on  her  head  since  childhood  can 
gain.  She  stepped  fearlessly,  never  touching 
the  rocks  with  her  hands  as  she  climbed.  Her 
attention  was  absorbed,  as  she  searched  for 
something  among  the  crevices ;  there  was  a  look 
of  fierce  determination  in  her  black  eyes. 

"I  know  it  is  here,"  she  repeated  to  herself; 
"it  is  only  because  I  do  not  know  the  spell  that 
I  cannot  find  it." 

She  stopped  before  a  large  flat  rock,  in 
which  were  hewn  oblong  depressions,  well 
squared  at  the  corners,  evidently  ancient  tombs. 

"The  trouble  is,  these  have  been  emptied  of 
their  treasure  long  ago.  But  there  must  be 
others  like  them." 

She  screened  her  eyes  from  the  sun  and 
gazed  around  her,  the  wind  blowing  her 
tangled  hair  into  her  face,  wrapping  her  coarse 
blue  garments  about  her. 

"Who  is  that?"  she  exclaimed,  looking 
eagerly  at  a  spot  on  the  opposite  slope.  Plain- 
ly some  one  was  there,  and  not  a  mountain- 
eer. 

"It    is    a    foreigner!"    exclaimed    Lamyeh 


163  Hid  Treasure 

again,  trembling  with  excitement,  "and  he  has 
a  book!  It  will  tell  where  the  treasure  is; 
that  is  what  books  are  for,  my  father  told 
me." 

She  hurried  breathlessly  down  the  hillside 
and  up  the  other  slope,  this  time  keeping  as 
much  as  possible  behind  the  rocks.  She 
reached  a  point  a  little  above  the  stranger, 
where  she  could  watch  him  unnoticed.  She 
had  never  seen  any  one  like  him  before,  with 
light  hair  and  fair  skin,  now  rather  burned 
by  the  sun,  and  such  trig  foreign  garments, 
so  plainly  meant  for  use  and  quick  motion, 
not  a  fold  allowed  for  graceful  effect.  She 
noticed  his  dusty  leggings,  and  concluded  that 
he  had  come  a  long  horseback  journey.  Some- 
thing in  his  strongly  cut  features  and  even  in 
his  absorbed  manner  of  reading  and  in  his  posi- 
tive way  of  writing  from  time  to  time  on  a 
scrap  of  paper  showed  a  man  of  determina- 
tion. 

"He  is  copying  the  directions,"  thought 
Lamyeh. 

But  what  attracted  her  attention  most  was  a 
small  round  object  in  a  leather  case  strapped 
over  his  shoulder;  she  felt  sure  that  this  was 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  164 

the  clock  which  would  point  out  the  right  spot. 

She  grew  impatient  waiting.  How  could  he 
sit  so  calmly  when  the  secret  was  his?  At  last 
he  folded  his  paper  and  shut  his  book  upon  it. 
Lamyeh  clutched  the  sharp  rock  with  excite- 
ment— he  would  start  now!  But  no,  he  only 
changed  his  position,  bending  forward  and  cov- 
ering his  face  with  his  hands.  Lamyeh  gazed 
with  an  unaccustomed  sense  of  awe,  and  her 
black  eyes  fell  in  shame  as  though  she  had  been 
profaning  something. 

She  cowered  behind  the  rock  until  he  started 
down  the  valley,  to  her  surprise,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  village  in  the  bend  below.  She  fol- 
lowed him,  coming  closer  as  he  neared  the  limit 
of  the  rocks.  He  walked  with  a  step  as  bold  as 
hers.  Presently,  to  her  consternation,  a  couple 
of  men  appeared  upon  the  path  below.  What 
could  be  more  trying? 

"They  will  see  us  and  spoil  it  all." 

With  the  bewildering  sense  that  now  was 
her  last  moment,  she  ran  down  the  remaining 
distance  like  a  hunted  wild  creature  and 
greatly  surprised  the  gentleman  with  her 
breathless  greeting. 

"Oh,  please,  for  the  sake  of  St.  Elias,  tell 


165  Hid  Treasure 

me  where  the  treasure  is."  There  was  some- 
thing pathetic  in  her  earnestness. 

The  stranger  smiled — a  frank,  kindly  smile. 
He  was  not  unacquainted  with  the  beliefs  cur- 
rent in  the  region. 

"You  are  mistaken,"  he  said;  "we  foreigners 
are  not  here  to  look  for  your  gold ;  we  do  not 
know  where  it  is." 

Lamyeh  looked  puzzled.  "But  your  clock 
will  tell,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  instrument 
in  the  leather  case. 

The  young  man  laughed  with  a  hearty 
amusement  that  quite  disconcerted  her. 

"This  is  what  we  call  a  barometer,"  he  said, 
opening  the  case;  "it  shows  how  high  the  moun- 
tains are  and  tells  when  it  is  going  to  rain." 

Lamyeh's  respect  for  him  was  fast  diminish- 
ing.   "Why,  we  know  that  without  a  clock." 

But  by  this  time  the  men  from  the  village 
had  reached  them,  and  Lamyeh  slunk  back 
under  their  looks  of  angry  disapproval.  They 
greeted  the  stranger  warmly. 

"You  have  delayed  a  long  time,"  said  one. 
"We  have  had  to  hold  the  road  like  robbers  to 
keep  the  village  people  from  following  you 
up  the  rocks." 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  166 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  gentleman.  "I  sup- 
pose they  hardly  understand  why  I  want  time 
to  prepare  my  sermon." 

His  host  bowed  respectfully,  never  showing 
by  word  or  look  his  own  doubts  on  the  sub- 
ject. 

The  other  man,  who  happened  to  be  Lam- 
yeh's  uncle,  turned  upon  her  with  repressed 
indignation.  "Be  off  with  you,  you  dry-faced 
hussy.  What  impudence  are  you  trying  now, 
talking  with  the  minister?" 

Lamyeh  fled  back  to  her  rocks  and  stood 
shading  her  eyes,  watching  the  three  disappear 
down  the  path. 

"He  does  not  mean  to  tell  me,  that's  sure! 
Never  mind,  I'll  find  it  in  spite  of  him!  He 
has  no  right ;  it  is  mine !" 

She  struck  up  the  hill  again  to  the  spot 
where  the  stranger  had  been  and  sat  down 
where  he  had  sat,  facing  in  the  direction  that 
he  had  faced.  She  could  not  help  a  furtive 
glance  back  toward  the  corner  where  she  had 
hidden,  as  though  dreading  the  intrusion  of 
her  own  presence,  but  all  was  quiet.  She 
opened  her  hands  before  her  like  a  book  and 
bent  her  restless  black  eyes  upon  them;  then 


167  Hid  Treasure 

looked  up,  as  the  calm  blue  eyes  had  done  be- 
fore. 

She  stifled  a  cry  and  darted  forward,  bend- 
ing upon  her  knees.  Her  eyes  had  not  de- 
ceived her;  there  under  the  gray  lichens,  just 
above  the  level  of  the  ground,  was  a  seam  in 
the  rock.  Tingling  with  excitement,  she 
grubbed  away  the  soil  with  her  hands,  and  dis- 
closed the  outline  of  a  slab.  She  could  hardly 
control  her  joy  as  she  pried  it  out  and  uncov- 
ered an  open  space  behind.  She  could  not  see 
anything  in  the  dark  hole  in  this  faint  evening 
light,  but  with  her  hands  she  could  feel  the 
square-cut  faces  of  the  hollow,  and  she  knew 
certainly  that  it  was  an  ancient  tomb.  Then 
her  hand  struck  something ;  she  knew  in  a  mo- 
ment what  it  was !  With  madly  beating  heart 
she  drew  it  out  and  shook  it;  it  was  a  small  jar, 
and  something  rattled  in  it.  She  turned  it  over 
confidently,  certain  of  her  success,  and  would 
have  been  surprised  if  she  had  not  seen  the 
glimmer  of  real  gold.  There  were  three  coins, 
engraved  with  fair,  classic  heads,  of  far  greater 
value  than  Lamyeh  dreamed;  sufficient  for  her 
that  they  were  real  gold,  the  first  she  had  ever 
handled. 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  16S 

II 

Lamyeh  bounded  down  the  hillside  with  a 
triumphant  feeling  in  her  heart  which  it  was 
hard  to  conceal. 

Fortunately  for  her,  she  found  the  family  at 
home  quite  preoccupied  with  another  subject. 
The  younger  children  were  full  of  the  news : 

"The  Frangi  gentleman  has  come  from  Ain- 
el-Hajar  to  preach  here  to-morrow,  and  he  is 
going  to  open  a  school  in  the  village !" 

"I  have  seen  him  already,  and  have  talked 
with  him,"  said  Lamyeh,  with  a  superior  air; 
but  nothing  more  would  she  disclose. 

The  next  day  was  a  memorable  one  in  the 
little  village.  The  foreign  gentleman  had  come 
from  his  central  mission  station  in  answer  to  a 
petition  for  a  school  from  a  delegation  of  the 
villagers. 

"We  will  give  the  house,"  they  said,  "if  you 
will  send  the  teacher." 

So,  after  the  usual  Sunday  mass  in  the  early 
morning,  the  people  assembled  in  the  room  set 
apart  for  the  new  school  and  listened  to  a  ser- 
mon the  like  of  which  they  had  never  heard 
before — a  story  told  in  plain  words,  such  as 


169  Hid  Treasure 

they  used  in  their  own  homes,  with  a  personal 
touch  about  it  that  brought  a  new  meaning  into 
their  simple  village  lives. 

But  a  far  different  impulse  was  at  work  just 
now  upon  Lamyeh,  who  waited  until  the  peo- 
ple had  all  assembled  at  the  service,  then  made 
her  way  hastily  in  the  opposite  direction. 

It  was  only  a  few  minutes'  walk  down  theN 
valley  to  the  Sacred  Tree  under  which  the  vil- 
lage saint  was  buried.  The  old  oak,  with  low- 
spreading  gnarled  branches,  a  forlorn  me- 
morial of  the  forests  which  once  clung  to  the 
sides  of  Lebanon,  now  stood  alone  in  the  deso- 
late valley,  its  ragged  patch  of  shade  the  only 
break  in  the  glare  of  rocks.  Now  in  its  old 
age,  with  uncouth  outline,  it  remained  like  an 
aged  beggar  by  the  roadside,  whose  dignity 
of  years  is  shamed  by  garments  of  rags.  For 
the  limbs  of  the  oak,  seamed  and  wrinkled, 
showed  now  through  fantastic  streamers  of  rag 
— red,  blue,  brown — all  faded  and  tattered, 
fluttering  in  the  wind.  It  was  the  price  of 
sanctity,  for  the  tree  was  now  a  shrine,  and 
from  all  the  country  round  would  come  men 
and  women  bringing  rags  from  the  bedsides  of 
their  sick  ones  to  tie  to  the  twigs  of  the  Holy 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  170 

Tree,  with  a  prayer  to  the  saint  buried  beneath. 

Lamyeh  looked  up  at  the  fluttering  tokens 
with  a  feeling  of  reverence.  To  her  they  meant 
the  power  ruling  over  human  destinies. 

"Each  one  of  these  is  a  prayer,"  she  said  to 
herself.    "My  treasure  will  be  safe." 

So  she  buried  the  precious  coins  at  the  roots 
of  the  tree,  beside  the  saint's  tomb,  and  went 
away  with  a  sense  of  assured  safety. 

She  took  care  to  keep  out  of  the  missionary's 
sight;  she  would  run  no  risk  of  having  her 
secret  disclosed. 

She  felt  considerable  relief  when  she  heard, 
Monday  morning,  that  he  had  gone.  She  could 
now  enjoy  the  thought  of  her  possessions  un- 
disturbed. While  she  fed  her  sheep  in  the 
yard,  mechanically  stuffing  handfuls  of  mul- 
berry leaves  into  its  mouth,  her  mind  danced 
with  visions  of  bracelets,  necklace,  and  a  silk 
gown.  The  chickens  hopped  past  her  into  the 
house  to  pick  at  the  winter's  store  of  wheat 
piled  on  the  floor,  and  her  baby  brother  cried 
and  squirmed  under  the  tight  straps  of  his 
cradle,  but  Lamyeh  noticed  nothing. 

"Does  a  girl  named  Lamyeh  live  here?" 
asked  a  sweet  voice. 


171  Hid  Treasure 

Lamyeh  looked  up,  amazed,  into  a  face  that 
seemed  a  part  of  her  dream-world.  A  young 
woman  with  fresh,  clear  complexion  and  deli- 
cate features,  a  pink-flowered  veil  thrown 
lightly  over  her  hair,  stood  in  the  path,  a  crock 
of  milk  in  her  hand. 

Lamyeh  rose  in  confusion,  pushing  back 
her  tangled  locks  from  her  eyes  and  wiping  her 
hands  on  her  dress. 

"If  this  is  Lamyeh,"  said  the  sweet  voice 
again,  "I  have  come  to  ask  you  a  favor.  I  am 
your  new  neighbor,  the  school-teacher's  wife. 
I  want  to  make  curds  as  you  make  them  here, 
and  they  say  you  are  famous  in  that  line  and 
will  show  me  how." 

Lamyeh's  face  glowed  with  gratification  and 
returning  self-respect. 

"Come  in,  please,"  she  urged  with  a  gra- 
ciousness  quite  new  to  her  wild  nature,  reach- 
ing down  a  chair  from  its  nail  on  the  wall.  "I 
thought  my  mother  went  to  see  you  this  morn- 

rag." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  the  visitor,  "and  she 
helped  me  beautifully  to  get  my  house  in  order. 
With  her  permission  I  come  to  you  now." 

Lamyeh  looked  delighted.     From  a  niche 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  172 

in  the  mud  wall  she  brought  a  bit  of  white 
powder  which  she  put  into  her  visitor's  palm. 

"You  make  a  paste  of  that  with  a  little 
milk,"  she  explained,  "and  then  stir  it  into  the 
crock." 

The  guest  held  the  powder  in  her  hand  and 
looked  at  Lamyeh  as  though  waiting  for  some- 
thing. 

"Well,  don't  you  want  to  do  it?"  asked 
Lamyeh. 

The  visitor,  in  her  turn,  became  embarrassed. 

"I  thought  you  meant  to  bring  a  cup  or 
something  to  mix  it  in." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Lamyeh,  "we  mix  it  in  the 
palm  of  the  hand." 

"Oh!"  said  the  stranger,  enlightened,  but 
still  looking  helplessly  at  the  crock  of  milk; 
"then  may  I  trouble  you  for  a  spoon  to  dip  it 
out  with?" 

Lamyeh  laughed  outright.  "Why,  we  do 
that  with  our  fingers."  The  city  lady  seemed 
remarkably  prejudiced  in  her  ideas. 

Her  guest  flushed.  "If  I  am  to  put  my 
fingers  in  I  would  like  to  wash  them  first; 
may  I  have  some  water?" 

This  was  too  much  for  Lamyeh.    "Why,  of 


173  Hid  Treasure 

course  we  wash  our  hands,  hut  we  do  that  after- 
wards." 

When  the  lesson  was  completed  and  the  visi- 
tor was  taking  her  leave,  Lamyeh  caught  her 
hand  with  a  look  of  appeal. 

"What  would  you  like?"  said  the  sweet- 
faced  lady. 

"Please,"  said  Lamyeh,  "can  you  tell  me  of 
any  medicine  for  removing  freckles?" 

in 

The  friendship  thus  begun  soon  became  to 
Lamyeh  an  absorbing  passion.  The  teacher's 
wife,  Sitt  Lulu  they  called  her,  a  mountain  girl 
herself,  became  Lamyeh's  ideal.  "You  are  my 
saint,"  she  would  say;  "I  would  light  my  ten 
fingers  as  candles  before  you." 

Little  could  Lamyeh  realize  the  sacrifice  that 
it  meant  for  Lulu  Yusuf  and  her  husband, 
products  of  a  new  order  of  things,  to  come 
back,  with  their  larger  aspirations  and  refined 
tastes,  to  this  primitive  village  life.  What 
Lamyeh  did  realize  was  a  new  interest  in  her 
own  mind  in  things  that  she  had  never  cared 
for  before.  The  first  step  was  an  appreciation 
of  the  use  and  value  of  a  comb.    Other  things 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  174 

followed  rapidly.  Before  long  her  roving  black 
eyes  were  studying  eagerly  what  had  once  been 
to  her  only  a  symbol  of  the  supernatural — a 
book.  And  with  the  new  growth  in  self-respect 
was  always  the  underlying  satisfaction — Lam- 
yeh's  secret — that  she,  the  mountain  girl,  was 
an  heiress! 

Lamyeh  spent  much  time  lingering  about 
the  sacred  Rag  Tree,  dreaming  of  the  time 
when  she  should  unearth  her  treasures.  Once 
she  dug  up  the  coins  to  make  sure  that  they 
were  safe,  but  put  them  back,  judging  rightly 
that  even  if  they  were  found  no  one  would 
dare  desecrate  the  place  by  taking  them. 

One  spring  day,  when  the  snows  of  the 
upper  Lebanon  were  melting,  sending  many 
streams  down  among  the  barren  rocks,  Lam- 
yeh went  again  to  visit  her  tree.  Before  long 
the  sound  of  thunder  rolled  in  from  the  distant 
mountains. 

The  roar  repeated  itself  surprisingly  soon, 
echoing  across  the  nearer  rocks.  Before 
long  the  sky  was  black.  Lamyeh  gazed 
in  wonder;  she  had  never  seen  storm-clouds 
gather  so  fast.  Then  came  the  first  drops, 
large  and  far  apart,  and  Lamyeh  started  to 


175  Hid  Treasure 

hurry  home.  But  before  she  had  run  many- 
steps  the  rain  was  pouring  hard,  and  she  turned 
back  to  the  tree  for  shelter.  She  realized  soon 
that  this  was  a  mistake,  and  that  the  ever- 
increasing  storm  was  something  unusual.  But 
it  was  too  late  now  to  fight  her  way  home; 
the  mountainsides  seemed  a  torrent. 

An  hour  or  so  passed,  and  then  came  a  ter- 
rible roar,  with  crashing  and  grinding  of  rocks, 
from  the  direction  of  the  village  above.  Lam- 
yeh  had  barely  time  to  swing  herself  up  into 
the  tree  before  the  flood  was  rushing  past,  car- 
rying stones  and  trees  before  it.  Then,  to 
Lamyeh's  horror,  beams,  pieces  of  woodwork 
and  broken  furniture  were  swept  by,  and  her 
heart  sickened  at  the  thought  of  her  own  home 
at  the  bottom  of  the  village,  in  the  very  path 
of  the  torrent.  But  all  she  could  do  was  to 
hold  on  desperately,  while  the  water  swirled 
below  her  and  the  great  tree  creaked  and 
groaned  like  a  ship  at  sea,  and  above  her  head 
the  fantastic  rag  streamers  fluttered  and 
flapped  in  a  wild  mockery  of  glee. 

It  was  hours  before  Lamyeh  could  struggle 
back  over  the  rocks  to  the  village.  And  what 
a  scene  she  beheld!     All  the  lower  row  of 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  176 

houses  gone,  her  own  home  with  the  rest.  The 
village  people  were  gathered  about  the  ruins, 
with  much  crying  and  wringing  of  hands. 

Lamyeh  was  greeted  like  one  returning  from 
death.  Her  mother  threw  herself  on  her  neck 
in  a  transport  of  grateful  tears. 

"Thank  God!  thank  God!  we  are  all  safe 
now;  never  mind  about  the  house." 

The  sudden  "seil"  or  flood,  so  much  dreaded 
in  some  parts  of  Lebanon,  had  undermined  the 
terraces  in  the  upper  section  of  the  village,  car- 
rying down  an  avalanche  of  rocks  and  soil  upon 
the  homes  in  the  lower  section  with  all  their 
scanty  furnishings  and  the  precious  store  of 
wheat — the  family  provision.  No  wonder  the 
people  wept.  But  they  bore  their  losses  with 
the  resignation  which  is  the  strength  of  the 
Oriental  nature.  As  Lamyeh's  mother  said, 
"Can  we  build  a  tent  above  our  heads  to  ward 
off  the  blows  of  God?" 

Mercifully,  no  lives  had  been  lost.  Lamyeh 
had  now  but  one  thought:  "I  can  now  give 
bread  to  my  family." 

She  could  hardly  wait  till  the  next  morning 
to  go  for  her  treasure.  She  stole  out  of  her 
uncle's  house,  where  they  had  been  taken  in 


177  Hid  Treasure 

for  the  present,  before  any  of  the  rest  were 
awake.  She  reached  the  Sacred  Tree  breath- 
less; but  oh,  what  a  change  was  there!  The 
soil  below  had  been  washed  away  in  great 
masses,  and  the  bared  roots  now  grasped  help- 
lessly at  the  empty  air.  Not  a  sign  of  even 
the  place  where  the  treasure  had  been!  Lam- 
yeh  stood  stunned  in  bitterness  of  wo,  such  as 
she  had  never  known  in  her  life. 

With  a  sob  of  despair  she  turned  to  leave  the 
hateful  spot,  when  her  eye  fell  on  something 
caught  among  the  roots.  She  picked  it  up  and 
saw  that  it  was  a  book,  washed  down,  no  doubt, 
from  the  village.  It  was  wet  and  covered  with 
mud,  but  she  wiped  it  off  as  well  as  she  could 
and  opened  it  to  see  what  it  was.  And  the 
words  that  she  read  were  these:  "The  king- 
dom of  heaven  is  like  unto  a  treasure  hidden 
in  the  field  which  a  man  found  and  hid ;  and  in 
his  joy  he  goeth  and  selleth  all  that  he  hath, 
and  buyeth  that  field." 

The  words  struck  into  Lamyeh's  very  soul. 
"All  that  he  hath!  all  that  he  hath!"  Who,  if 
not  Lamyeh,  could  know  what  that  meant? 

"O  God!"  she  cried,  "what  can  make  up 
for  all  that  one  hath?" 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  178 

In  her  distress  she  thought  instinctively  of 
her  friend  Lulu.  "She  can  tell  me  if  anybody 
in  the  world  can."  And  she  went  to  her  at 
once,  with  her  own  impetuous  frankness. 

In  the  middle  of  the  morning  Lamyeh  re- 
turned to  her  mother  with  a  radiance  in  her 
black  eyes  which  glorified  her  whole  face.  Her 
mother  looked  at  her  amazed;  she  had  never 
thought  Lamyeh  beautiful  before. 

"Mother,"  she  said,  "I  have  found  hid 
treasure." 


XIII 
NIMR'S  KUSSIS 

THE  great  peak  of  Hermon  rose  grim 
and  solitary  over  a  scene  of  sunset 
glory.    At  its  feet  lay  the  whole  land 
of  Syria,  like  a  picture  in  relief,  its  parallel 
chains  of  mountains  mere  seams  upon  the  land- 
scape. 

Rufail  Haddad,  alone  upon  the  bleak  sum- 
mit, looked  down  upon  the  scene  as  on  a  world 
apart  from  himself,  whose  pettiness  no  longer 
appealed  to  him.  His  face  was  turned  to  the 
west,  where  stretched  the  great  sea,  covered 
now  by  a  still  more  wondrous  ocean  of  cloud, 
which  rolled  billow  after  billow  to  the  horizon. 

179 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  180 

The  sunset  rays  streamed  over  the  vast  ex- 
panse, in  burning  tints  of  red  and  gold.  "A 
sea  of  glass  mingled  with  fire,"  murmured 
Rufail  to  himself. 

The  cloud-billows  rolled  on  till  they  touched 
the  peaks  of  Lebanon,  pouring  over  them  like 
a  cataract;  but  here  a  marvelous  change  took 
place.  The  hot  dry  air  rising  from  the  Bakaa 
plain  met  the  overflowing  cataract  and  dissi- 
pated it,  and  the  torrent  rolled  into  nothing- 
ness. 

Rufail  followed  the  sweep  of  the  horizon, 
past  the  faint  green  patches  that  marked  the 
sites  of  Damascus  and  far  distant  desert  towns, 
to  the  great  eastern  plain,  stretching  in  opal 
tints,  with  its  extinct  volcanic  craters  outlined 
against  their  own  black  shadows  like  moun- 
tains that  one  sees  upon  the  surface  of  the 
moon.  Across  the  plain  stretched  a  black  mys- 
terious shape,  strangely  clear  in  its  conical 
form,  the  shadow  of  Hermon  itself.  Rufail 
watched  it  as  it  lengthened,  drawing  into  its 
grasp  more  and  more  of  the  plain,  till  it 
reached  the  eastern  horizon;  then  like  a  living 
creature  it  leaped  into  the  sky,  ever  rising, 
dark  and  ominous  against  the  clouds,  till  it 


181  Nimr's  Kussis 

was  absorbed  at  last  into  the  surrounding  dark- 
ness. 

Rufail  leaned  forward  upon  his  hand,  so  in- 
tent on  the  scene  that  he  did  not  notice  until 
they  were  close  upon  him  the  figures  of  three 
armed  men  approaching  him  from  three  direc- 
tions. In  an  instant  his  dreamy  look  was  gone, 
and  his  quick  glance  upon  the  intruders  told 
that  their  object  was  understood.  He  picked 
up  three  stone  chips  from  the  disintegrated 
rock  at  his  feet,  and  looked  meaningly  from 
one  to  another  of  the  three  men;  next  he  placed 
the  chips  upon  a  rock  about  fifteen  paces  away, 
then,  stepping  back  to  his  first  position,  lifted 
his  revolver,  and  without  taking  appreciable 
time  to  aim,  blew  the  chips  to  pieces  in  quick 
succession. 

"Mashallah!"  exclaimed  the  head-brigand, 
admiringly,  "your  aim  is  like  the  eagle's 
glance." 

Rufail  could  now  halloo  to  his  companion, 
who,  hearing  the  shots,  was  hastening  toward 
him  from  the  snow-drift  below,  but  before  he 
reached  the  summit  the  three  robbers  had 
slipped  away. 

The  two  young  men  looked  at  each  other 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  182 

with  a  sober  sense  of  their  own  recklessness. 

"I  suppose  you  were  right,"  said  Rufail; 
"it  was  foolish  to  come  alone." 

"Oh,  no,"  laughed  his  friend,  a  little  nerv- 
ously, "I  was  the  fool;  I  see  now  it  takes  a 
'kus'*  to  beat  a  robber." 

They  walked  back  together  to  their  camp- 
fire  and  passed  a  peaceful  night  in  the  old 
high  place  of  Baal,  the  "Cave  of  the  Winds." 
The  next  day  was  spent  in  hunting,  as  they 
had  planned,  and  in  the  afternoon  they  started 
down  again  to  their  homes.  They  separated 
at  the  valley  road,  each  turning  toward  his  own 
village. 

With  the  familiar  path  Rufail  found  himself 
again  resuming  the  cares  and  responsibilities 
of  his  difficult  life.  Five  years  ago  he  had  met 
the  question  that  must  be  answered  in  these 
days  by  every  young  Syrian  of  Christian  edu- 
cation. Should  he  leave  once  for  all  his  old 
depressing  surroundings  of  fixed  custom, 
throw  himself  into  the  wide-awake  life  of 
America,  with  its  mental  stimulus,  its  promises 
and  rewards — should  not  he,  too,  one  among 
the  many,  have  a  chance  to  rise  in  the  world? 

*  Kus,  or  kussis,  is  the  Arabic  word  for  pastor. 


183  Nimr's  Kussis 

Or,  on  the  other  hand,  should  he  remain  where 
his  high  ideals  might  be  poorly  understood, 
among  a  people  held  down  by  ignorance  and 
adverse  conditions,  whose  advancement  must 
be  gained  by  infinite  patience,  yet  whose  ad- 
vancement he  might  help?  A  question  some- 
thing like  this  was  decided  by  Moses  long  ago 
upon  the  banks  of  the  Nile.  The  decision  with 
Rufail  had  resulted  in  his  coming  to  an  ob- 
scure mountain  village  as  kussis  over  a  small 
mission  church,  with  a  congregation  of  rough 
peasants,  and  a  salary  of  most  humble  dimen- 
sions. 

Rufail  turned  the  bend  that  led  to  his  home 
and  was  met  by  the  sight  of  the  village  in 
flames!  He  saw  at  once  what  had  happened; 
the  unfriendly  village  across  the  valley  had 
thus  wreaked  its  spite.  He  hurried  on  in 
wretched  self-condemnation  for  leaving  his 
people  for  even  one  holiday.  Presently  he  was 
met  by  a  group  of  horsemen. 

"IshlaJi!    Disarm!"  they  cried. 

There  was  no  use  resisting.  Rufail  gave  up 
his  arms  and  what  little  money  he  carried. 

"Now  walk  ahead  of  us,"  ordered  one. 

Rufail  saw  that  he  must  obey  and  started 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  184 

back  on  his  path,  steep  rocks  on  one  side,  a 
precipice  on  the  other.  He  walked  half  a  mile, 
often  looking  back  to  see  what  his  captors  were 
about.  Suddenly  he  saw  them  aim  their  guns 
at  him.  There  was  not  a  moment  to  lose;  he 
leaped  the  precipice  and  fell  heavily  upon  the 
ground  below.  The  horsemen  rode  up  quickly 
and  looked  down. 

"He  is  dead,"  said  one;  "we  need  not  waste 
fire  upon  him." 

They  rode  on,  while  Ruf  ail  became  conscious 
of  his  injuries.  There  was  a  sharp  pain  in  his 
side,  another  in  his  leg  which  he  could  not 
move ;  then  he  lost  himself  again. 

He  woke  up  to  find  a  rough  face  bending 
over  him,  full  of  anxiety;  he  had  seen  the  face 
before,  though  he  could  not  remember  where. 

"A  lad  who  can  shoot  like  you  will  not  be 
left  to  die  while  Nimr  has  breath,"  said  the 
rough  man  kindly. 

Rufail  recognized  him  now  as  the  robber 
chief  who  had  threatened  him  on  Hermon. 

"I  am  going  to  carry  you  to  your  home," 
said  Nimr.  "The  pillagers  have  left  the 
town." 

He  lifted  Rufail  upon  his  back.     Every 


185  Nimr's  Kussis 

motion  caused  the  injured  man  agony,  but  he 
did  not  show  it.  The  long  climb  was  accom- 
plished with  much  difficulty  and  suffering  to 
both,  and  the  smoldering  village,  now  seem- 
ingly deserted,  was  reached. 

The  enemy  had  set  fire  to  the  booths  of  leaves 
which  formed  the  entrance  to  most  of  the 
houses,  and  these  had  communicated  the  fire 
to  the  roofs ;  the  stone  and  mud  walls  remained, 
blackened  and  bare. 

With  almost  despairing  hope,  Rufail  di- 
rected his  bearer  to  his  own  house,  only  to  find 
it  in  ruins  like  the  rest.  But  the  church  which 
adjoined  it,  with  its  tiled  roof,  stood  uninjured. 
Its  door  was  locked,  as  usual. 

"Would  you  hunt  under  the  embers  of  my 
house  for  the  keys?"  asked  Rufail. 

"Shame  on  my  beard  if  I  cannot  do  that!" 
answered  the  robber,  laying  him  down. 

Rufail  directed  him  where  to  look,  and,  with- 
out shrinking,  the  man  stepped  among  the 
burning  ruins.  He  returned  soon  with  the 
three  great  keys.  He  threw  them  down 
quickly,  rubbing  his  hands  on  the  earth.  Ru- 
fail could  see,  even  in  the  faint  light,  that  both 
hands  and  feet  were  severely  burned. 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  186 

"The  Lord  reward  you,"  he  murmured. 

When  the  keys  were  cool  enough  to  handle, 
Nimr  tried  the  lock  with  one  after  another, 
without  success ;  the  heat  had  warped  them  out 
of  shape. 

"You  will  have  to  break  down  the  door," 
said  Rufail,  wearily. 

"And  leave  the  way  open  for  your  enemies? 
Never,  by  my  girdle !" 

He  again  took  up  the  first  key  that  he  had 
tried.  Raising  it  solemnly  before  him,  he  re- 
peated, "Bism  Illah!  In  the  name  of  God!" 
then  fitted  it  into  the  keyhole. 

The  door  opened !  The  church  was  a  simple 
stone  room,  fitted  with  rude  benches  and  pul- 
pit. Nimr  groped  his  way  in,  spread  his  own 
goat's-hair  coat  upon  the  floor  for  a  bed,  and 
carefully  laid  Rufail  upon  it,  lifting  the  young 
man's  head  upon  his  own  lap  for  a  pillow.  In 
spite  of  all  Rufail's  entreaties,  that  he  should 
take  some  rest  himself,  he  sat  up  with  Rufail 
thus  the  whole  night. 

In  the  early  morning,  the  villagers  began 
creeping  back  to  their  ruined  homes.  It  be- 
came noised  about  that  the  kussis  was  lying 
wounded  in  the  church,  and  Rufail  was  soon 


187  Nimr's  Kussis 

surrounded  by  sympathetic  friends,  all  anx- 
ious to  do  him  service. 

"What  he  needs  is  a  doctor,"  said  one,  "but 
who  of  us  would  dare  go  over  the  mountains 
for  him  at  this  time,  with  our  enemies  hunting 
the  high-roads  for  us?" 

"I  will  go,"  said  Nimr;  "no  one  will  dare 
touch  me.  I  will  have  the  doctor  here  before 
night."  Then  a  quizzical  look  came  over  his 
face.  "I  suppose  the  doctor  will  not  trust  him- 
self to  me;  you  had  better  give  me  a  paper." 

Rufail  scratched  off  a  few  lines  with  diffi- 
culty. Nimr  folded  the  paper  into  a  tight  roll 
and  slipped  it  into  the  hollow  of  his  reed  cane. 
He  smiled  for  the  first  time. 

"They  may  search  me  now  if  they  like,  they 
will  never  guess  my  errand." 

He  was  gone  all  day,  while  the  people  gave 
Rufail  the  best  of  what  little  remained  to  them. 
By  night  the  Syrian  doctor  arrived,  with  his 
strange  brigand  guide.  He  was  an  old  friend 
of  Ruf ail's;  not  many  years  before,  they  had 
studied  together  in  the  school  at  Sidon.  The 
broken  leg  was  set  and  the  bruised  limbs  made 
more  comfortable,  then  came  the  inevitable 
treatment  of  a  multitude  of  ailments  that  sud- 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  188 

denly  manifest  themselves  in  a  crowd  at  the 
appearance  of  a  doctor.  He  left  the  next 
morning  with  the  blessings  of  the  village  upon 
his  head. 

During  the  long  convalescence  which  fol- 
lowed Nimr  would  never  leave  his  patient. 
When  fever  was  upon  Rufail,  he  would  bathe 
his  head,  and  with  gruff  insistence  would  keep 
away  the  ever-solicitous  crowd  of  friends. 
Sometimes  he  would  sit,  with  Rufail's  head 
again  upon  his  lap,  gazing  with  awe  upon  the 
painted  letters  on  the  wall. 

"What  do  they  mean?"  he  asked,  one  day. 
Rufail  read  them  aloud — the  Lord's  Prayer 
and  the  Ten  Commandments. 

"Is  that  your  religion?"  asked  Nimr. 

"It  is  the  key  to  it,"  answered  Rufail. 

"W'Allah!  it  is  a  strange  doctrine,"  said  the 
robber.  "The  Bedouins,  who  brought  me  up, 
taught  me  that  the  noblest  aim  in  the  world  was 
to  kill  and  rob  and  swear  by  God's  name,  and 
never  to  forgive  a  trespass." 

Rufail  turned  and  raised  himself  upon  his 
elbow  in  his  earnestness.  "Nimr,  have  you 
nothing  to  be  forgiven?" 

From  that  time  till  Rufail  recovered  he  used 


189  Nimr's  Kussis 

to  read  daily  to  Nimr  from  the  great  Bible, 
which  lay  on  the  pulpit,  doctrines  at  first  dis- 
tasteful and  incomprehensible  to  the  hardened 
robber,  explaining  them  till  they  became  to  him 
at  first  familiar,  and  finally  beautiful. 

The  bright  day  came  for  Rufail's  return  to 
the  house  which  had  been  rebuilt  for  him.  But 
to  Nimr  the  day  brought  only  the  deepest 
gloom.  Before  light,  he  rose  from  his  mat  at 
Rufail's  side  and  bent  over  him  with  a  father's 
tenderness,  kissing  him  first  on  one  cheek,  then 
on  the  other,  without  a  word.  An  hour  later, 
when  the  joyous  people  met,  Nimr  was  gone. 

He  was  seldom  seen  again  among  the  vil- 
lagers, but  it  became  a  well-known  fact  that 
he  robbed  no  more.  Hunting  or  carrying  mes- 
sages through  dangerous  parts  of  the  country 
became  his  chief  employment.  Several  times 
a  year  the  dark  man  would  suddenly  appear 
among  Rufail's  little  congregation.  Seating 
himself  upon  the  floor  cross-legged,  with  folded 
arms,  he  would  listen  with  face  intent  upon  the 
young  preacher;  when  the  service  was  over  he 
would  go,  often  without  a  word. 

If  ever  it  happened  that  any  of  Rufail's 
people  were  robbed  by  other  brigands  upon  the 


Ensigns  upon  the  Mountains  190 

high-roads,  word  had  but  to  be  sent  to  Nimr 
and  the  goods  were  always  restored. 

As  for  Rufail  himself,  no  man  of  rank  in 
the  region  could  as  safely  go  and  come  as  he, 
however  wild  the  district ;  for  among  brigands 
and  villagers  alike  he  was  known  and  honored 
as  Nimr's  kussis. 


W" 


ERE  EAST  AND  WEST  MEET 


XIV     The  Night  at  Ibil 

XV    Luciyeh  of  the  Brave  Heart 
XVI     Transplanted  Children 


Military  Hospital 


Pftutugraph,  Undent***!  <f  Umterwood,  Xrw  York 


XIV 

THE  NIGHT 
AT  IBIL 


SOMETHING  new  was  happening  in 
the  little  inland  village  of  Ibil,  nestled 
near  the  flanks  of  Mt.  Hermon,  and 
most  of  the  inhabitants  turned  out  to  see.  Five 
stocky  traveling  horses  jogged  wearily  into 
town  with  the  dust  of  two  days'  journey  cov- 
ering them  and  their  riders. 

"Why,  they're  three  mere  girls!"  exclaimed 
old  Im  Asaad.  "How  could  their  parents  in 
America  let  them  come  so  far?" 

"That's  their  Arabic  teacher,  the  Syrian 
lady  on  the  front  horse,  and  the  boy  is  their 
cook, — looks  as  if  he  didn't  know  which  end 
of  a  spoon  to  hold." 

They  were  greeted  with  whole-souled  cor- 
191 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  192 

diality  by  the  Syrian  Protestant  pastor  and  his 
wife  and  an  eager  group  of  village  church- 
members.  They  were  escorted  by  the  whole 
bevy  to  the  little  house  which  they  had  hired 
for  the  summer,  four  rooms  with  mud  walls 
and  floors,  but  homelike  withal. 

"Look  at  this  ladder  leading  up  to  our 
roof!"  exclaimed  Helen.  They  all  gleefully 
climbed  it,  and  took  a  survey  of  their  surround- 
ings. 

"We  shall  have  company  in  our  loneliness," 
said  Lois.  "I  have  been  counting  the  inhabi- 
tants of  our  front  yard.  We  have  three  horses, 
two  mules,  a  cow,  a  donkey,  three  sheep,  two 
broods  of  chickens  and  all  the  neighbors'  chil- 
dren, right  at  our  door-step!" 

The  girl-missionaries  were  soon  settled  in 
their  simple  housekeeping,  with  cots  and  camp- 
stools,  while  the  servant-boy,  Shahin,  managed 
the  cooking  over  an  earthen  grate  on  the  floor 
of  a  mud  hut  across  the  yard. 

Their  opportunities  for  learning  Arabic 
soon  exceeded  their  wildest  hopes,  and  visitors 
from  seven  in  the  morning  till  bedtime  became 
the  order  of  the  day. 

At  first  the  girls  made  it  a  rule  to  speak 


193  The  Night  at  IbH 

Arabic  together  at  meals,  but  Helen  finally- 
protested. 

"We  cannot  possibly  get  the  nourishment 
of  our  food  if  we  rack  our  brains  all  the  meal- 
hour  trying  to  remember  the  word  for  'hash' !" 

But  the  Arabic  progressed  rapidly  in  other 
ways,  and  at  the  end  of  a  month  the  girls  felt 
justified  in  taking  a  two-days'  vacation. 
Grammars  were  closed  and  Miss  Asma  was 
prevailed  upon  to  make  a  well-earned  visit  to 
her  own  home.  The  girls  waved  her  a  good-by 
from  the  flat  roof  as  she  rode  away,  her  little 
donkey-boy  scampering  along  behind. 

With  the  last  glimpse,  the  girls  turned  to 
each  other,  a  little  ripple  of  excitement  in  the 
look  which  they  exchanged. 

"We  shall  test  our  pluck  now,"  said  Helen, 
"and  see  what  it  is  like  to  be  alone  in  the  vil- 
lage." 

They  celebrated  their  holiday  by  an  excur- 
sion with  the  pastor  to  a  neighboring  town  of 
historic  interest.  There,  under  the  imposing 
shadow  of  Hermon,  had  occurred  many  years 
before  one  of  the  most  harrowing  events  on 
record,  when  a  thousand  Christian  men, 
women,  and  children,  were  decoyed  into  the 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  194 

castle  and  slaughtered  like  sheep.  The  girls 
passed  with  horror  through  the  dreary  vaults, 
saw  the  hole  in  the  floor  where  the  blood  had 
flowed  out,  and  gazed  awestruck  at  the  time- 
stained  walls,  wondering  what  untold  mysteries 
they  might  reveal.  They  rode  home  at  sun- 
set, their  excited  imaginations  in  such  tension 
that  every  black  shadow  among  the  rocks 
seemed  vested  with  a  nameless  dread.  They 
tried  to  throw  it  off,  talking  gaily  together, 
but  the  thoughts  awakened  were  too  solemn  to 
be  treated  lightly.  It  was  not  so  much  the 
recollection  of  a  past  event  that  stirred  them, 
but  the  realization  that  these  self-same  deeds 
were  being  repeated  in  regions  akin  to  this. 

"How  incapable  we  are  of  imagining  any- 
thing until  it  comes  personally  before  us,"  re- 
flected Helen. 

They  were  now  back  at  their  own  door-step 
and  had  to  say  good-by  to  their  kind  friend 
the  pastor. 

But  the  evening  passed  without  incident  and 
at  night  the  three  cots  were  as  comfortable  as 
usual  with  their  undulations  and  cavities,  and 
the  girls  were  soon  deep  in  "the  dreamless 
sleep  of  youth." 


195  The  Night  at  Ibil 

It  was  after  midnight  when  all  three  were 
roused  by  something  unearthly;  it  took  several 
minutes  for  their  confused  consciousness  to 
realize  what  it  was.  It  seemed  to  be  outside 
of  their  windows,  a  wild  babel,  women's 
screams  and  men's  shouts,  all  alive  with  the  un- 
mistakable tone  of  terror  and  distress. 

"What  is  it?"  whispered  Lois. 

"It  may  be  wailing  for  the  dead,"  said 
Fulda,  "but  I  never  heard  it  so  terrible  as  this ; 
some  one  must  have  been  killed." 

She  slipped  to  the  window  and  looked  out; 
in  the  pale  moonlight  she  could  see  excited 
groups  of  men  and  women,  shrieking  and 
throwing  their  arms  frantically  in  the  air  as 
they  hurried  up  the  hillside  in  a  panic. 

"What  do  you  think  of  bolting  the  win- 
dows?" she  suggested. 

The  girls  were  not  slow  to  respond  to  the 
idea  and  in  an  incredibly  short  time  bolts  that 
had  never  worked  before  were  slipped  into 
place. 

All  the  time,  the  horrid  sounds  were  dinning 
in  their  ears. 

"Shall  we  call  Shahin?"  asked  Lois. 

"You  may,  if  you  like,"  answered  Helen, 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  196 

"you  have  to  go  out-of-doors  to  reach  his 
room." 

Lois  grew  thoughtful.  "I  doubt  if  he  could 
help  us,"  she  reflected  meekly.  They  listened 
in  the  darkness  as  the  sounds  became  louder 
and  wilder. 

"Oh,  wo  is  me!  wo  is  me!"  shrieked  a  wom- 
an's voice,  in  agony. 

It  was  lost  in  a  thundering  bass:  "Your 
house  be  destroyed!    Your  life  be  cut  off!" 

Then  rose  the  mountaineers'  war-cry,  fol- 
lowed by  more  shrieks,  which  burst  out,  and 
then  seemed  to  be  stifled  and  choked,  as  though 
the  victims  were  being  trampled  down;  then 
came  the  thud  of  many  feet. 

"O  Lord,  save  us!"  came  the  cry. 

The  girls  recalled  now  all  too  well  references 
they  had  heard  to  a  standing  feud  between 
the  two  factions  of  the  village,  and  the  awful 
issue  became  evident. 

"Suppose  we  barricade  the  door,"  suggested 
Helen.  "Do  you  think  we  could  lift  our  heavy 
wooden  chests?" 

They  managed  it  somehow,  stumbling  across 
the  room  in  the  darkness,  and  piled  the  boxes 
one  above  another  against  the  door. 


197  The  Night  at  Ibil 

I  never  supposed  we  were  so  strong," 
panted  Fulda. 

They  sat  down  again  in  a  row  on  the  edge 
of  the  cot;  nothing  would  have  tempted  them 
to  strike  a  light. 

"It  seems  to  me  I  hear  a  wounded  man  call- 
ing for  water,"  whispered  Lois.  "I  wonder  if 
we  ought  to  give  the  injured  people  refuge  in 
our  house." 

"I  hardly  see  how  we  could,"  answered 
Helen;  "we  do  not  know  who  are  the  victims, 
and  who  are  the  enemies." 

"Fulda,"  said  Lois,  "if  they  should  break  in 
on  us,  couldn't  you  speak  to  them,  say  some- 
thing that  might  soften  their  hearts?  You 
were  born  and  brought  up  in  this  country." 

"Yes,  I  have  been  thinking  about  it,"  an- 
swered Fulda.  "I  thought  I  might  remind 
them  that  my  father  is  a  doctor  and  has  spent 
his  life  treating  their  people  and  ask  them,  if 
they  should  ever  be  wounded  and  need  to  go 
to  him,  if  they  would  not  be  sorry  for  having 
killed  his  daughter." 

"I  should  think  that  ought  to  appeal  to 
them,"  said  Lois. 

"Girls,"  said  Helen,  "I  think  we  ought  to 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  198 

dress  in  our  warmest  clothes  and  be  ready  to 
escape  over  the  mountains  if  necessary." 

The  girls  followed  the  suggestion  promptly, 
gathering  together  their  wraps  with  hurried 
fingers,  while  the  mind  of  each  called  up  in 
anxious  succession  every  rock  and  turn  of  the 
road  that  led  to  the  nearest  mission  station. 

"I  would  rather  trust  to  our  friends  here," 
said  Lois.  "I  know  the  pastor  would  risk  his 
last  chance  of  life  to  save  us." 

"Indeed  he  would,"  answered  Helen 
warmly,  "if — if  he  is  still  here  to  do  it." 

"There's  his  voice,"  exclaimed  Lois. 

It  rose  strong  and  clear,  "Young  men! 
Come  this  way!  All  work  together!"  then  it 
was  drowned  in  the  clamor. 

They  listened  in  silence  as  the  tumult  went 
on,  perhaps  two  hours. 

It  was  an  experience  which  will  help  them 
as  long  as  life  lasts,  that  quiet  waiting  in  the 
darkness  with  the  fiendish  sounds  in  their  ears 
and  the  prospect  of  death  so  close.  Each  con- 
fessed afterward  that  she  prepared  her  mind 
during  those  hours  for  the  particular  death 
that  seemed  to  her  most  probable;  Helen  ex- 
pected to  be  shot,  Fulda  to  be  stabbed,  while 


199  The  Night  at  Ibil 

brave  little  Lois  steeled  her  heart  at  the  pros- 
pect of  having  her  throat  cut.  But,  to  their 
credit  be  it  said,  they  were  perfectly  calm 
throughout.  Indeed,  death  face  to  face  seemed 
not  so  strange  after  all,  and  as  the  three 
girls  kneeled  together  beside  the  cot,  they  felt 
sincerely  that  they  could  face  whatever  might 
come. 

At  last  the  tumult  wore  away;  the  people 
seemed  to  disperse  and  silence  fell,  more  mys- 
terious and  awful  even  than  the  uproar.  A 
strange  sense  of  surprise  crept  over  the  girls 
as  they  realized  that  they  might  live  after  all ; 
in  that  moment  life  appeared  like  a  new  and 
untried  experience ;  indeed,  it  seemed  as  solemn 
to  live  as  to  die. 

When  the  dawn  began  to  break  through  the 
cracks  of  the  windows,  the  girls  ventured  to 
take  down  their  barricade  and  open  the  door. 
The  light  was  gray  and  uncertain  and  the 
cool  air  felt  strange  upon  their  heated  faces, 
but  there  was  nothing  unusual  in  the  little  yard. 
An  old  woman,  the  landlord's  mother,  was  sit- 
ting on  the  door-step  feeding  her  sheep  with 
mulberry-leaves.  Fulda  went  out  and  spoke 
to  her. 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  200 

"What  has  happened?"  she  asked  breath- 
lessly.   "Tell  me  how  many  were  killed?" 

The  old  woman  looked  at  her  curiously,  then 
lifted  up  her  mulberry-stained  hands  and 
laughed  a  long  quavering  laugh. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  repeated  Fulda. 

The  woman  answered  with  a  voluble  story 

in  Arabic,  Fulda  listening  with  a  growing  ex- 
pression of  amusement  on  her  face. 

She  turned  back  to  the  room. 

"What  did  she  say?"  asked  Lois  eagerly; 
"we  could  not  hear." 

"Such  a  climax!"  exclaimed  Fulda.  "Do 
you  remember  Abu  Milhem's  little  half -under- 
ground store-room,  that  was  so  closely  packed 
with  chopped  straw?  Well,  some  one  went  in 
there  last  night  with  a  lamp  and  accidentally 
set  the  place  on  fire.  It  did  not  blaze  up,  but 
just  smoldered  under  the  earthen  roof.  But 
you  know  a  fire  is  such  an  unheard-of  thing 
in  these  mud  and  stone  villages,  that  the  people 
completely  lost  head  over  it.  The  whole  pop- 
ulation rushed  pell-mell  to  the  place,  fairly 
running  over  each  other  in  their  excitement. 
There  was  hardly  any  water  in  the  houses  about 
and  you  remember  the  fountain  is  a  mile  away, 


201'  The  Night  at  IbiL 

so  they  tried  to  stamp  the  fire  out  with  their 
feet,  but  of  course  they  were  in  each  other's 
way  and  of  course  they  grew  angry  and 
screamed  and  cursed  at  each  other  and  some 
of  them  became  frightened  and  pandemonium 
was  the  result.    All  over  a  smoldering  hut!" 

"And  we  went  through  all  the  horror  and 
solemnity  of  being  massacred  just  for  that!" 
exclaimed  Helen. 

"Yes,  just  for  that." 


XV 

LUCIYEH  OF 

THE  BRAVE 

HEART* 


A  DIPLOMA!  Luciyeh's  cheeks  were 
flushed  and  her  brown  eyes  scanned 
eagerly  the  seal  of  the  Syrian  Protes- 
tant college,  her  alma  mater,  with  its  emblem 
the  wide-spreading  cedar  of  Lebanon.  She 
was  alone  in  her  room  now,  where  she  had  lived 
these  happy,  busy  years  of  her  nurse's  train- 
ing-course. The  excitement  of  commencement 
was  over,  her  roommate  had  returned  already 
to  her  own  home  in  Nazareth,  and  Luciyeh 
would  leave  in  a  few  days.  What  a  proud, 
glad  home-coming  it  would  be,  with  the  wel- 
come that  she  had  earned!  Her  mind  pictured 
again  the  horror  on  her  mother's  face  when 
she  first  proposed  taking  the  nurse's  training- 

*  An  incident  of  the  late  Italian  war. 
202 


203  Luciyeh  of  the  Brave  Heart 

course  in  the  city.  It  was  in  their  simple  but 
cheerful  home  on  Mt.  Lebanon;  through  the 
open  doorway  was  wafted  the  spring  scent  of 
blossoming  broom-shrubs,  which  made  the  hill- 
side a  flame  of  gold. 

"You  turn  everything  upside  down  with 
your  foreign  ideas  I"  said  her  mother,  bitterly. 
"Here  is  Elias,  the  widower,  asking  for  you, 
and  not  even  objecting  to  your  being  twenty- 
five  years  old!" 

Luciyeh's  face  deeply  flushed  now  at  the 
recollection  of  her  resentment  at  her  mother's 
words. 

"Elias  wants  only  some  one  to  care  for  his 
eight  children.  I  am  nothing  to  him,  and  he  is 
certainly  nothing  to  me."  She  held  back  from 
further  comment  with  the  self-control  that  she 
had  learned  through  years  of  mission-school 
training. 

"Oh,  my  two  eyes,  my  mother!  I  have 
worked  for  you  and  earned  money  for  you,  and 
taken  care  of  my  dear  father  through  years  of 
illness,  and  now  my  little  sister  is  through  with 
school  and  is  ready  to  take  my  place  at  home. 
You  do  not  need  me,  and  there  are  many  sick 
and  helpless  who  do." 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  204 

The  mother  yielded  unwillingly,  and  Luci- 
yeh  came  to  the  new,  beautifully  equipped 
training-school  in  the  city  by  the  sea.  She  met 
with  hard  work  for  brain  and  body,  but  she 
greeted  both  with  the  enthusiasm  which  filled 
her  life  with  gladness. 

Then  came  that  vacation  at  home.  Accord- 
ing to  their  old  habit  in  the  festive  days  of  ripe 
grapes,  the  family  rose  at  dawn  and  carried 
bread,  olives,  and  fresh  village  cheese  to  sup- 
plement the  royal  breakfast  that  awaited  them 
in  their  vineyard  outside  the  village.  There 
they  could  pick  wondrous  clusters  of  dew-cov- 
ered black  grapes,  large  as  young  plums; 
bunches  of  "hens-and-chickens,"  large  grapes 
with  little  ones  hanging  round  them;  delicate 
"lady's  fingers,"  slender  white  grapes  two 
inches  long;  pink-bloomed  "maiden's  cheeks," 
that  reflected  Luciyeh's  own  color;  but  as 
satisfactory  as  any,  the  every-day  little  white 
grapes,  that  the  poorest  in  the  land  could  en- 
joy unstinted.  The  Syrian  family  is  hampered 
by  no  limits  when  it  is  a  question  of  grapes 
picked  from  the  vines. 

All  were  gay,  till  a  sudden  cry  and  a  crack- 
ling of  branches   revealed  the   dear  mother 


205  Luciyeh  of  the  Brave  Heart 

fallen  from  a  terrace  in  trying  to  reach  an  over- 
hanging cluster.  All  ran  to  her  rescue,  but 
their  efforts  to  raise  her  produced  agony. 
Luciyeh  was  on  her  knees,  feeling  the  injured 
thigh  with  tender  and  skilful  ringers. 

"Dear,  dear  mother! — this  is  a  compound 
fracture,"  and  she  hastily  sent  her  little  brother 
back  to  the  house  for  her  antiseptics  and  band- 
ages. 

News  of  the  mishap  traveled  like  wildfire  to 
the  neighboring  vineyards,  and  friends  rapidly 
collected  with  kindly  advice. 

"Kill  a  sheep  and  wrap  the  warm  skin  over 
the  wound,"  cried  one. 

"Yes,"  answered  Luciyeh  scornfully,  "and 
give  her  lockjaw  from  infection." 

"I  will  get  you  a  plaster  from  the  barnyard," 
said  another. 

His  wisdom  was  checked  by  a  breathless  ap- 
parition, a  bent  and  tottering  old  dame,  tooth- 
less, but  with  piercing  eyes  gleaming  through 
matted  locks  of  gray  hair,  unevenly  dyed  with 
red.  In  her  hand  she  carried  a  basket  covered 
over  with  grape-leaves. 

"I  am  the  bone-setter  of  the  village  over  the 
hill.    I  am  the  only  one  who  knows  what  to  do. 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  206 

In  the  Holy  Name,  make  way!"  She  opened 
her  basket,  took  out  an  earthen  bowl,  which 
covered  a  quantity  of  eggs. 

"There  are  twenty,"  she  said,  proceeding  to 
break  one  and  separate  the  whites  into  the 
bowl.  "All  these  will  stiffen  the  bandage  finely. 
Take  this  veil  of  mine,"  she  went  on,  handing 
the  dirty  object  to  Luciyeh,  "and  tear  it  into 
shreds."  Luciyeh,  who  had  been  struck  dumb 
by  a  distracted  instinct  to  show  reverence  for 
old  age,  suddenly  found  her  voice. 

"Grandmother,"  she  said,  with  an  effort  at 
respect  in  her  tone,  "better  to  bind  her  with 
chains  to  her  bed  for  the  rest  of  her  life.  If 
we  put  this  stiff  bandage  on  now,  the  limb 
will  swell  beneath  it  and  gangrene  will  fol- 
low." 

"You  she-ass,  do  you  presume  to  instruct 
me?"  The  piercing  eyes  shot  fire,  and,  pushing 
Luciyeh  aside,  the  scrawny  hands  seized  the 
lacerated  wound.  The  sufferer  gave  a  scream 
and  the  wound  began  to  pour  red  blood. 

"She  has  broken  an  artery!"  exclaimed 
Luciyeh,  white  with  indignation.  "Take  that 
woman  away,"  she  commanded,  like  a  little 
queen.    Several  young  men  found  themselves 


207  Luciyeh  of  the  Brave  Heart 

obeying.  On  her  knees,  Luciyeh  was  quickly 
and  deftly  at  work.  A  piece  of  cord  from  the 
grape  basket,  a  stick  picked  up  from  the 
ground,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  admiring 
group  beheld  a  tourniquet  tightly  applied,  the 
hemorrhage  stopped. 

"Bravo !    Bravo  I"  cried  all. 

By  this  time  the  little  brother  was  back  with 
the  antiseptic  tablets  and  dressings.  A  clean 
bandage  was  soon  in  place,  and  under  the  di- 
rections of  the  little  commanding  officer,  the 
mother  was  placed  upon  an  improvised 
stretcher. 

"We  must  go  right  to  the  city  and  have  the 
fracture  examined  with  the  X-ray  at  the  col- 
lege." 

By  this  time,  not  a  question  was  raised.  Two 
squads  of  young  men  agreed  to  take  turns 
carrying  the  stretcher,  while  Luciyeh  walked 
the  entire  fifteen  miles  of  dusty  white  carriage- 
road  beside  her  mother. 

Great  was  the  surprise  of  the  hospital  staff 
to  see  Luciyeh  back  again,  but  the  doctors  soon 
found  reason  to  commend  her  skill  and 
promptness.  The  X-rays  were  invoked,  the 
surgeon's  ability  called  forth,  and  at  last  the 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  208 

exhausted  mother  was  laid  in  a  restful  bed  in 
her  daughter's  ward. 

During  the  weeks  which  followed,  the  invis- 
ible knitting  of  the  bones  and  the  healing  of 
torn  tissue  was  no  more  miraculous  than  the 
gradual  growth  in  the  mother's  heart  of  appre- 
ciation of  Luciyeh's  work.  Not  only  were  her 
own  sore  muscles  soothed  by  her  daughter's 
invigorating  touch,  but  with  tear-filled  eyes  she 
watched  Luciyeh  moving  from  bed  to  bed, 
noted  how  pain-drawn  faces  relaxed  after  her 
ministrations,  and  discouraged  eyes  brightened 
with  life  and  hope  from  her  cheery  presence. 
When  at  last  the  mother  went  home,  walking  as 
erect  as  when  a  village  child  she  first  balanced  a 
water- jar  on  her  head,  she  carried  in  her  bosom 
a  great  pride  that  it  was  her  daughter  who  was 
rendering  to  her  people  such  a  service. 

"And  now  I  will  take  my  diploma  to  my 
mother,"  murmured  Luciyeh  to  herself,  "to  get 
her  blessing." 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  door.  Luciyeh  rose 
and  her  face  grew  radiant  when  she  saw  the 
tall,  black-gowned  figure  and  serene  face  which 
had  grown  to  be  her  ideal  during  these  three 
years.    Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald,  widow  of  as  devoted 


209  Luciyeh  of  the  Brave  Heart 

a  missionary  as  ever  rode  among  the  moun- 
tains and  gorges  of  Lebanon,  carried  in  her 
calm  face,  not  old,  despite  the  snowy  hair  above 
it,  the  sweetness  that  has  come  through  pain. 
As  superintendent  of  the  hospital  she  not  only 
brought  the  message  of  Jesus  to  the  patients, 
but  she  inspired  in  the  young  girls  who  worked 
under  her,  a  desire  to  carry  the  message  too. 

"I  have  a  call  for  you,"  said  Mrs.  Fitz- 
Gerald.  "The  governor  of  the  city  came  to 
me  after  the  commencement  exercises,  asking 
me  to  recommend  a  head  nurse  for  the  new  hos- 
pital that  the  government  is  to  establish.  I 
have  recommended  you." 

The  blood  fled  from  Luciyeh's  face.  "How 
could  I  do  it?  The  only  woman  among  all 
those  Moslem  officials !" 

"I  believe  you  are  called  for  such  a  time 
as  this,"  said  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald. 

"Will  you  help  me?"  asked  Luciyeh. 

"Indeed  I  will,  and  a  Greater  than  I,"  re- 
plied her  friend. 

After  a  short  visit  home  Luciyeh  started  in 
earnest  with  her  work.  The  officials  showed 
remarkable  readiness  to  consider  her  rec- 
ommendations and  fulfil  her  requirements  as 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  210 

far  as  means  would  allow.  The  new  building, 
on  the  edge  of  a  dreary  waste  of  sand  at 
one  side  of  the  city,  was  fortunately  empty. 
Luciyeh  fairly  quivered  with  excitement  when 
the  new  equipment  arrived,  plain  beds  and 
material  for  bedding. 

"We'll  make  up  the  bedding  ourselves,"  she 
said. 

Then  there  were  cooking  appliances  and  the 
sterilizer  from  her  own  hospital,  which  had  been 
discarded  when  a  splendid  new  one  was  sent  by 
a  generous  giver  in  America.  And  of  course 
there  were  medicines  and  a  simple  surgical 
outfit. 

Luciyeh  would  not  let  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald 
come  to  see  her  till  all  was  arranged  and  pa- 
tients were  admitted.  Then,  with  a  beating 
heart  and  pardonable  pride,  she  took  her 
teacher  through  the  building. 

"You  see  I  have  made  everything  as  much 
as  possible  like  things  in  my  mother  hospital. 
You  recognize  this  arrangement  of  bedding 
and  blankets  and  the  way  we  prepare  the  pa- 
tients' food?" 

"Are  these  sick  soldiers?"  asked  Mrs.  Fitz- 
Gerald,  entering  a  room  where  four  soldiers 


211  Luciyeh  of  the  Brave  Heart 

in  uniform  were  seated  on  a.  mat,  smoking 
argilehs. 

"Oh,  no!"  answered  Luciyeh.  "Sick  prison- 
ers are  always  sent  here,  and  these  soldiers  are 
on  guard  to  keep  them  from  running  away." 

They  had  now  reached  the  outer  door. 

"I  only  wish  we  had  a  wall  around  the  prem- 
ises. I  don't  feel  very  safe  on  the  edge  of  the 
sands;  vagabonds  so  often  wander  here;  and 
every  house  in  the  city  has  a  garden  wall; — 
but  that  will  come!"  she  broke  off  with  charac- 
teristic brightness.  "They  say  I  am  terrible, 
calling  for  expenditures!"  They  stepped  out- 
side together  on  the  sand,  so  unlike  the  blos- 
soming garden  of  the  home  hospital.  Luciyeh 
took  hold  of  both  of  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald's  hands. 

"Let  me  tell  you  one  more  thing  I  am  going 
to  have  after  the  ways  of  our  mother  hospital. 
You  always  have  daily  prayers  with  the  pa- 
tients, and  I  am  going  to  do  the  same."  She 
bent  her  head  over  her  teacher's  hands  and 
kissed  them  with  the  reverence  she  had  learned 
when  kissing  her  parents'  hands  as  a  little  child. 

"I  learned  it  all  from  you,"  she  said.  Mrs. 
Fitz-Gerald  returned  the  kiss  on  Luciyeh's 
forehead  and  both  glowing  cheeks. 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  212 

"God  bless  you!"  she  whispered,  and  left, 
turning  for  a  last  glimpse  of  the  sturdy  little 
figure  in  white  cap  and  uniform,  unrelieved  by 
beauty  of  surroundings,  but  giving  out  from 
her  own  personality  an  inspiring  sense  of  en- 
ergy, health,  and  helpfulness. 

The  months  that  followed  seemed  too  short 
for  the  fulfilment  of  all  Luciyeh's  plans. 
Spring  stole  upon  her  unawares,  with  the 
warmer  breezes  of  late  February. 

She  stood  at  her  window  one  early  morning, 
gazing  across  the  palm-tufted  city  to  the  snow- 
peaks  of  Lebanon,  gloriously  reflected  in  the 
glittering  bay. 

"There  will  be  more  patients,"  she  mused, 
"as  the  spring  travel  grows  easier.  I  will  send 
to  the  mountains  for  my  little  cousin  to  come 
and  work  with  me,  and  I  will  give  her  the 
nurse's  training-course  myself!" 

Suddenly  her  eyes  were  riveted  upon  two 
vessels  steaming  swiftly  toward  the  harbor. 
No  new  sight  they  were;  war-ships  of  all  na- 
tions frequented  the  busy  seaport  and  ex- 
change of  salutes  was  as  common  as  the  deco- 
rous salaams  of  turbaned  dignitaries  on  the 
streets.    But  there  was  something  menacing  in 


213  Luciyeh  of  the  Brave  Heart 

the  silently  sliding  gray  monsters,  not  white 
like  pleasure-boats,  nor  black  like  the  merchant 
marine.  The  two  battle-ships  steamed  more 
rapidly  and  closer  to  shore  than  the  usual  visit- 
ing squadrons,  and  immense  flags  were  spread 
amidships.  Luciyeh  brought  her  precious  field- 
glass  to  look.  Her  heart  stood  still :  they  were 
Italian  flags!  The  horrid  war  with  Italy  had 
been  going  on  for  months,  and  dire  news  came 
from  a  distance  starting  waves  of  apprehen- 
sion in  the  city;  but  news  from  afar  does  not 
stir  for  long.  Now,  suddenly,  what  could  it 
be?    Perhaps  a  blockade,  perhaps 

A  tongue  of  fire  shot  from  the  forward  ves- 
sel and  a  screaming,  hideous  thing  was  hurled 
directly  across  the  city,  over  Luciyeh's  head, 
landing  in  the  sand  just  beyond  the  hospital. 
A  second  shell  followed  immediately,  spanning 
the  city  in  another  direction.  Luciyeh  flew 
down-stairs  to  her  people.  Panic  reigned. 
Patients  were  scrambling  out  of  bed,  throwing 
blankets  about  them,  and  rushing  away  from 
the  building. 

"Stop!  Stop!"  she  cried;  but  as  well  might 
she  have  stopped  the  on-rushing  shells.  She 
ran  for  the  assistance  of  the  soldiers,  but  they 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  214 

had  disappeared,  and  the  prisoners  had  lost  no 
time  in  escaping. 

"The  servants!"  she  panted,  running  to  the 
kitchen,  but  they  too  were  gone.  In  an  in- 
credibly short  time  Luciyeh  found  herself  alone 
in  her  empty  hospital.  In  the  meantime,  a 
new  sound  greeted  her  from  the  city,  the  sound 
never  forgotten  when  once  heard,  the  roar  of 
an  angry  mob.  She  learned  later  what  hap- 
pened, a  rush  of  the  street-rabble  to  the  bar- 
racks to  seize  arms  for  the  defense  of  the  city, 
— so  they  claimed.  All  she  saw,  away  down  in 
the  streets,  was  a  madly  running  horde,  all 
with  rifles,  pointing  in  every  direction.  Sev- 
eral times  she  heard  single  shots  and  she  knew 
well  what  that  meant;  some  personal  grudge 
scored  off,  a  prostrate  form  lying  in  its  blood, 
every  one  on  the  street  running  from  the  sight. 
She  knew  only  too  well  the  force  of  the  rabble, 
the  uncontrolled  power  of  religious  hate.  Was 
a  massacre  beginning  already?  The  hospital 
wall  was  still  unbuilt ! 

The  college  clock  struck  nine.  A  few  min- 
utes more  and  there  burst  from  the  two  battle- 
ships a  volcano  of  horror,  beggaring  to  insig- 
nificance the  ordinary  roll  of  powder  salutes. 


215  Luciyeh  of  the  Brave  Heart 

There  was  the  sharp,  crashing  explosion  of 
shells  that  hit — Oh,  what  were  they  striking? 
She  remembered  the  two  small  Turkish  gun- 
boats which  had  been  hiding  in  the  harbor  all 
winter ;  of  course  they  were  the  targets.  After 
a  rain  of  fire  a  thing  like  a  sea-serpent  flew 
through  the  water,  touching  the  larger  gun- 
boat. Instantly,  a  geyser  arose  and  the  gun- 
boat had  disappeared.  The  dull  roar  in  the 
streets  grew  angrier  and  came  nearer. 

With  one  imploring  look  heavenward, 
Luciyeh  ran  from  the  deserted  building,  ran 
ever  faster  through  the  cactus-bordered  lanes, 
back  to  her  mother  hospital.  There  overhead 
floated  the  symbol  of  safety,  the  American 
stars  and  stripes.  Oh,  beautiful  vision — pro- 
tection, assurance,  peace!  Many  of  the  terri- 
fied neighbors,  expecting  a  landing  by  the  en- 
emy with  atrocities  of  all  kinds,  had  run  to  the 
hospital  for  the  shelter  of  the  flag,  and  there 
was  welcome  for  all. 

Luciyeh  ran  through  the  excited  group  of 
nurses  to  her  patron  saint,  Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald, 
and  sank  down  before  her  in  sobs. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  gasped.  The  kind 
eyes  that  had  watched  her  through  her  course 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  216 

looked  tenderly  down  upon  her,  and  the  hand 
that  had  helped  her  so  often  was  laid  upon  her 
shoulder. 

"Luciyeh,  go  back  to  your  work!"  Luciyeh 
looked  up,  startled ;  could  she  mean  such  a  cruel 
command?  But  the  kind  eyes  did  not  falter. 
The  girl  clung  to  her  passionately  till  her  sobs 
were  quiet,  and  all  the  while  the  brooding  pres- 
ence yearned  over  her,  but  did  not  speak.  At 
last  Luciyeh  rose. 

"I  am  going  back,"  she  said  quietly. 

"I  knew  you  would,"  replied  her  guardian. 
"God  will  go  with  you." 

Back  through  the  questioning  circle  of 
nurses,  back  through  the  crowd  of  frightened 
neighbors,  away  from  the  protecting  flag,  down 
the  steps  she  hurried,  ever  hastening  lest  her 
courage  should  give  out.  Back  she  fled  through 
the  menacing  cactus-hedges,  whose  thorns 
pointed  in  every  direction,  like  the  guns  of  the 
mob  down  town. 

"O  God,  make  me  strong,  for  Christ's  sake!" 
she  panted.  Crossing  a  strip  of  open  sand,  she 
reached  her  deserted  hospital,  almost  surprised 
to  find  it  still  there.  She  bolted  the  door  after 
her  and  made  a  tour  of  inspection  to  assure 


217  Luciyeh  of  the  Brave  Heart 

herself  that  no  one  was  there.  She  was  pro- 
ceeding to  put  in  order  her  dismantled  wards, 
when  her  heart  stood  still  at  a  thundering 
knock  at  the  front  door.  She  ran  upstairs  and 
looked  down  through  the  window  to  see  who 
was  there. 

"For  God's  sake,  open!  Here  is  a  wounded 
man  from  the  port." 

Fear  was  gone.  Here  was  some  one  to  be 
helped.  She  flew  down,  unbolted  the  door,  and 
the  miserable  sufferer  was  brought  into  the 
operating-room.  Jagged  fragments  of  shell, 
with  horrid  spiral  motion,  had  done  their  worst 
with  soft  human  flesh.    She  wrung  her  hands. 

"If  only  the  hospital  doctors  were  here! 
They  have  not  appeared  to-day.  Never  mind ! 
I'll  do  what  I  can." 

Swiftly,  deftly,  with  sterilized  water  and 
antiseptic  bandages,  she  proceeded. 

Then  came  another  knock  and  a  bold  foot- 
step. Luciyeh  glanced  up  and  was  overjoyed 
at  seeing  Dr.  David,  a  Syrian  member  of  the 
college  medical  staff. 

"Mrs.  Fitz-Gerald  sent  me  to  help  you,"  he 
said,  throwing  off  his  coat.  "Where  is  the 
anesthetic?" 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  218 

With  sense  of  infinite  relief,  Luciyeh  took 
her  place  at  his  side. 

Before  the  first  patient  was  bandaged,  a 
second  was  brought,  and  a  third,  and  another 
and  still  others.  The  whole  day  the  Christian 
nurse  and  the  Christian  doctor  worked  together 
under  the  Turkish  flag. 

In  the  evening,  when  the  doctor  had  left, 
Luciyeh  sent  to  the  hospital  board  for  a  mili- 
tary guard,  which  was  promised,  but  never 
came.  Alone  she  cared  for  her  patients,  never 
knowing  what  the  mob  might  do.  The  God  in 
whom  she  trusted  was  shielding  her,  through 
the  vigilance  of  a  wise  city  governor,  set  there 
in  his  great  providence  for  this  time  of  need. 

A  few  at  a  time,  during  the  next  day,  most 
of  the  terrified  inmates  of  the  hospital  re- 
turned, except  the  prisoners.  And  Luciyeh's 
work  went  on. 

The  visitor  who  knows  where  to  seek  her  may 
find  her  to-day,  still  soothing  and  restoring 
with  her  hand,  and  inspiring  hope  and  courage 
from  her  brave  heart. 


XVI 

TRANSPLANTED 
CHILDREN 


IT  was  a  pretty  trick,"  said  Amr  Afendeh 
Hashim,  complacently  rolling  a  cigaret. 
He  had  pulled  off  his  European  shoes, 
when  he  returned  from  his  business  down  in 
the  old  city,  and  now  he  was  enjoying  home 
comfort,  sitting  cross-legged  on  the  divan,  even 
though  his  well-fitted  European  clothes  were 
stretched  in  adapting  themselves  to  his  Asiatic 
pose. 

"How  did  he  manage  it?"  asked  the  Afen- 
deh's  wife,  Sitt  Habubah,  fat  and  complacent, 
in  pink  calico  wrapper,  blowing  a  stream  of 
bubbles  through  her  argileh. 

219 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  220 

"It  was  this  way,"  said  her  husband,  press- 
ing off  the  ashes  of  his  cigaret  upon  a  carved 
brass  receiver.  "You  know  my  brother  Selim 
can  outwit  the  Sheitan!  When  we  sent  him 
to  England  after  the  death  of  our  poor  brother 
Abd- Allah  over  there,  he  knew  very  well  that 
we  did  not  want  to  be  bothered  with  Abd- 
Allah's  young  English  wife.  What  a  brother 
of  ours  wanted  with  a  foreign  wife  I  can't 
imagine  I" 

"Such  ways!"  snorted  Sitt  Habubah.  "She 
probably  walked  into  the  reception-room  like 
a  brazen-faced  hussy,  without  a  veil,  and  shook 
hands  with  her  husband's  gentlemen  visitors !" 
The  argileh  was  boiling  now  with  her  indig- 
nant whiffs. 

"Well,  Selim  was  not  to  be  caught,"  said 
Amr.  "But  he  knew  that,  aside  from  the  cap- 
ital that  Abd- Allah  left  in  his  business,  his  two 
children,  Hanifeh  and  Khudr,  were  all  that 
was  left  to  us  here  in  Syria  to  remind  us  of  our 
beloved  youngest  brother,"  and  Amr's  voice 
was  husky  with  genuine  emotion.  "Selim  kept 
on  good  terms  with  the  English  wife,"  he  con- 
tinued, "until  he  had  wound  up  Abd- Allah's 
affairs  to  the  advantage  of  his  brothers  in  Syria. 


221  Transplanted  Children 

Then  he  told  her  that  he  was  going  to  take  the 
children  out  to  smell  the  air.  He  did  it  indeed, 
taking  them  to  the  ship  and  sailing  off  with 
them  to  Syria!  The  Englishwoman  must  have 
had  a  good  surprise  to  find  herself  left  alone! 
And  Selim  and  the  children  arrive  here  to- 
morrow! His  letter  has  come  only  one  day 
sooner  than  he  himself." 

"We  can  bundle  them  in  with  the  rest  of  the 
children,"  said  Sitt  Habubah;  "two  more  will 
not  make  much  difference  when  we  have  the 
families  of  you  three  brothers  here  already." 

Early  the  next  morning,  the  entire  complex 
household  was  in  great  excitement.  The  ship 
had  been  sighted  rounding  the  point,  and  the 
two  brothers,  Amr  and  Husein,  were  off  to  the 
Port  to  meet  the  returning  brother  Selim  and 
the  little  niece  and  nephew.  They  all  came 
back  in  a  carriage  to  the  house. 

The  harim  crowded  each  other  in  the  court 
to  get  the  first  glimpse.  There  were  the  three 
wives  of  the  brothers,  the  aged  mother  of  the 
family  and  two  unmarried  sisters,  besides  two 
servant-women  who  mingled  with  the  rest  on 
familiar  terms.  All  had  to  restrain  their  eager- 
ness in  greeting  the  returning  travelers  and 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  222 

had  drawn  veils  over  their  faces,  on  account  of 
the  porters  who  were  carrying  baggage  into 
the  house.  But  when  Selim  Hashim  actually 
stepped  into  the  court,  his  wife  raised  the  cry 
of  rejoicing,  the  zlaghit,  joined  by  a  chorus  of 
all  the  younger  women,  "la-la-la-la-la-la-li !" 
"For  shame!  for  shame!"  cried  the  quavering 
voice  of  the  aged  mother,  "to  rejoice  over  one 
brother,  when  the  other  lies  in  his  grave  in  a 
distant  land,"  and  tearing  open  the  neck  of 
her  dress,  she  beat  her  clenched  hands  upon 
her  bony  breast,  and  chanted  the  funeral  cry 
for  Abd- Allah,  the  departed. 

But  the  children  of  the  family  were  not  to 
be  restrained.  They  were  everywhere,  under 
foot,  five  children  of  Amr,  three  of  Selim  and 
four  of  Husein,  besides  the  babies  carried  in 
the  arms  of  Selim's  and  Husein's  wives.  They 
clutched  at  their  uncle  Selim's  baggage,  de- 
manding insistently  where  he  had  put  the  pres- 
ents for  them. 

While  Selim's  attention  was  given  to  his 
own  family,  all  the  rest  of  the  children  found 
wonderful  entertainment  inspecting  the  new 
little  cousins.  The  newcomers  stood,  timid  and 
bewildered  by  the  jangle  of  questions  hurled 


223  Transplanted  Children 

at  them  in  Arabic,  which  they  could  not  under- 
stand. Hanifeh,  five  years  old,  looked  out 
shyly  from  large  black  eyes,  like  those  of  her 
cousins  staring  at  her,  and  her  black  hair  hung 
in  heavy  curls  round  her  shoulders.  But  her 
three-year-old  brother,  stocky  and  closely  knit, 
with  copper-tinted  hair,  frank  blue  eyes,  and 
freckled  nose,  was  as  incongruous  a  bearer 
of  the  name  Khudr  as  could  possibly  be  im- 
agined. 

What  interested  the  Syrian  cousins  far  more 
than  the  newcomers  themselves,  was  the  flaxen- 
haired  doll  which  Hanifeh  clasped.  They  fin- 
gered its  face  and  hair,  and  inspected  each 
article  of  its  clothing  with  delight,  imparting 
sundry  finger-marks.  The  older  girls  were 
pulling  at  Hanifeh's  coat  and  turning  up  the 
corners  to  feel  the  silk  lining. 

One  boy  snatched  Khudr's  broad-brimmed 
straw  hat  from  his  hand,  as  the  little  fellow 
had  pulled  it  off  on  entering  the  house.  "Why 
don't  you  wear  a  hat  on  your  head,  in  the  place 
where  a  hat  ought  to  be?"  jeered  the  older 
boy,  setting  the  hat  on  his  own  head  over  his 
red  fez  and  proceeding  with  a  mock  parade 
round  the  court.    Another  child  gave  a  tweak 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  224 

to  one  of  Hanif eh's  curls  and  ran  off  convulsed 
with  laughter. 

"W'low!  you  young  Bedouins!"  roared 
uncle  Amr,  cuffing  the  heads  of  one  or  two  of 
the  nearest  ones,  who  ducked  and  hovered 
about  just  out  of  reach. 

As  soon  as  the  uncle's  attention  was  diverted, 
another  boy  seized  Khudr's  patent  leather  belt 
with  a  sudden  pull  that  would  have  thrown  him 
over,  but  for  Hanif  eh's  catching  him.  Find- 
ing Hanif  eh  off  her  guard,  two  or  three  others 
jerked  the  doll  out  of  her  arms  and  ran  off 
with  it.  Little  Khudr's  blood  was  up.  Plant- 
ing his  two  sturdy  legs  apart,  with  truly  Brit- 
ish defiance,  he  leveled  a  fat  fist  square  in  the 
nose  of  the  nearest  marauder.  Howls  rent  the 
air. 

"Khudr!  you  bad  boy!"  cried  Selim  Afendeh 
in  English,  boxing  the  child's  ears,  "haven't  I 
told  you  all  the  voyage  you  were  like  your 
mother's  people!" 

"My  name  is  not  Kooder,"  retorted  the  child 
stoutly,  pronouncing  the  name  with  an  Eng- 
lish accent;  "my  mother  always  called  me 
George." 

"Khudr  is  the  name  your  father  gave  you 


225  Transplanted  Children 

and  that's  your  name  here,"  answered  uncle 
Selim  shortly. 

Hanifeh's  wails  were  now  clamorous: 
"Who's  got  my  doll?" 

Several  children  at  the  end  of  the  court  were 
contending  for  it. 

"You  afrits,"  cried  uncle  Selim,  "give  that 
to  me !"  He  pulled  the  doll  away,  but  already 
the  top  of  its  head  had  been  broken  off,  as 
though  the  poor  thing  had  been  scalped.  He 
brought  it  to  Hanif  eh,  who  held  out  her  arms 
to  it  sobbing,  as  a  mother  might  receive  her 
wounded  child. 

"Come  now,  you  must  kiss  your  grand- 
mother's hand,"  said  uncle  Selim,  taking 
Hanifeh  and  Khudr  to  the  elderly  lady,  "you 
must  call  her  Sit-ty."  Rather  awkwardly,  the 
two  children  obeyed  their  uncle's  command 
and  kissed  the  old  lady  on  the  back  of  the 
hand. 

She  took  hold  of  Khudr  by  the  shoulders: 
"Can  this  be  my  Abd-Allah's  son?"  Tears 
streamed  down  her  withered  cheeks.  "Let  me 
smell  of  you."  She  pinched  his  cheek  hard, 
while  drawing  a  long  whiff  through  her  nos- 
trils, then  making  as  though  she  were  drawing 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  226 

away  a  handful  of  his  cheek,  she  kissed  her 
closed  fingers. 

"You  hurt!"  cried  Khudr,  drawing  away. 
He  soon  learned  that  this  was  Sit-ty's  way  of 
showing  her  affection,  and  he  submitted  with 
rather  poor  grace. 

"Now  you  children  must  behave  while  the 
gentlemen  eat  breakfast,"  cried  Sitt  Habubah. 

The  veiled  maid-servants  were  taking  dishes 
of  food  into  the  dining-room. 

"Cheer  up!"  Hanifeh  whispered  to  her  af- 
flicted doll;  "we'll  have  something  to  eat  any- 
way." She  started  following  the  men  to  the 
breakfast-table,  but  was  promptly  pulled  back 
by  uncle  Selim's  wife.  She  soon  realized  that 
the  gentlemen  ate  in  state,  while  their  wives 
and  servants  waited  on  them  and  the  children 
clamored  in  the  kitchen,  seizing  pieces  of  flat 
Arabic  bread  with  a  few  olives  or  some  cheese, 
to  munch  as  they  roamed  around,  getting  in 
the  way  of  the  women  who  served. 

When  the  men  had  finished  their  breakfast, 
the  women  took  their  turn,  the  children  gath- 
ering round  their  respective  mothers,  who  fed 
them  liberally.  Sit-ty  saw  to  Hanifeh  and 
Khudr.     They  rather  liked  the  bread,  which 


227  Transplanted  Children 

was  torn  off  in  pieces,  like  scraps  of  tough 
blotting-paper,  and  used  as  a  scoop  for  the  pre- 
pared food,  but  the  bowls  of  loppered  milk, 
called  leben,  they  would  have  none  of. 

After  breakfast,  the  Hashim  brothers  went 
down  town.  Hanifeh  and  Khudr  gazed  tear- 
fully after  uncle  Selim,  as  the  last  link  with 
the  life  that  they  knew. 

"Shu  haida!  (What  is  this!),"  cried  Sitt 
Habubah,  "taou!"  They  inferred  that  the 
word  meant  "come,"  and  they  followed  her  into 
a  bedroom,  where  she  made  them  take  off  their 
shoes  and  gave  them  their  choice  of  an  array 
of  house  footwear,  heelless  slippers,  black  and 
red,  and  kub-kubs,  a  wooden  sole  raised  on 
blocks  under  the  heel  and  toes  and  held  on  by 
a  leather  strap  over  the  toes.  These  novelties 
attracted  them  at  once,  though  their  cousins 
seemed  to  prefer  slippers.  Clump!  clump! 
clump!  they  toddled  noisily  and  awkwardly 
over  the  marble  floor,  as  though  just  learning 
to  walk.  The  cousins  roared  with  laughter 
and  quickly  shuffling  out  of  their  slippers  and 
sliding  their  toes  into  the  kub-kubs,  they  began 
executing  fancy  maneuvers,  to  the  mortifica- 
tion of  the  newcomers.    By  dint  of  practise, 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  228 

Hanifeh  and  Khudr  soon  gained  skill,  and 
before  long  they  were  clumping  about  with 
the  rest.  When  this  entertainment  palled, 
they  wandered  back  into  the  rooms  and  found 
a  charming  pastime  blowing  bubbles  into  Sitt 
Habubah's  argileh. 

At  bedtime  the  greatest  surprise  of  the  day 
came  when  the  maids  spread  out  on  the  floor 
a  quantity  of  pallets,  which  had  been  folded 
and  piled  up  at  one  end  of  a  big  room,  and 
the  various  children  disposed  themselves  upon 
them,  taking  off  only  their  dresses  and  sleep- 
ing in  their  underclothes.  The  high  bedsteads, 
with  silk  quilts  and  mosquito-nets,  were  for  the 
grown  people. 

The  next  day  the  women  were  very  busy 
preparing  food,  elaborate  concoctions  of  dough 
with  spiced  dressing  rolled  in  it.  In  the  court- 
yard, the  servant-maids,  in  full  Turkish 
trousers  and  skirts  tucked  up  around  their 
waists,  pounded  meat  and  wheat  into  a  pulp 
which  they  spread  in  huge  flat  pans,  putting 
in  a  layer  of  chopped  meat,  onions  and  pine- 
cone  seeds.  They  called  it  kibbeh.  Through- 
out the  preparations,  Hanifeh  frequently 
caught  the  word  "Ramadan." 


229  Transplanted  Children 

"What  does  'Ramadan'  mean?"  she  asked 
uncle  Selim  when  he  came  home  in  the  even- 
ing. "That  is  the  month  of  the  great  Feast,"  he 
said,  "when  we  fast  all  day  and  eat  at  night." 

That  evening  the  children  were  put  to  bed 
as  before,  but  at  midnight  were  aroused  by  a 
great  din  outside,  a  drum  and  a  man's  voice 
calling.  All  the  family  jumped  up,  putting  on 
their  outer  garments.  Lamps  were  lighted, 
and  maids  and  matrons  together  proceeded  to 
serve  the  elaborate  dinner  that  had  been  pre- 
pared the  day  before.  It  was  topped  off  with 
a  generous  tray  from  the  confectioner's,  puff- 
paste  stuffed  with  chopped  nuts  and  honey. 
All  the  children  were  frantic  with  excitement. 
When  the  men  had  feasted  and  settled  down  to 
cigars  and  argilehs,  the  women  and  children 
partook.  The  viands  were  tasty  and  very  rich. 
Hanifeh  and  Khudr  found  their  prejudices 
disappearing  and  tucked  in  their  good  share, 
though  they  balked  at  cucumber  salad  with 
loppered  milk  sauce.  They  were  through  per- 
haps by  three  in  the  morning,  and  all  burrowed 
under  their  quilts  again  for  a  few  hours  of  fit- 
ful sleep.  The  cold  gray  dawn  stole  through 
the  round  sky-light  windows  below  the  ceiling, 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  230 

and  Hanifeh  and  Khudr  opened  their  eyes  to 
gaze  forlornly  at  each  other.  Oh,  such  feelings 
inside  them!  They  were  both  wretched  and 
could  do  nothing  all  day  but  lie  on  the  floor. 
The  gentlemen  went  off  without  breakfast  and 
the  harim  neither  ate,  drank,  nor  smoked  the 
whole  day,  and  the  children  were  given  only 
pick-up  lunches  of  bread  and  cheese. 

At  certain  hours  of  the  day  Sit-ty  would 
spread  a  rug  on  the  floor  and  go  through  a 
wonderful  series  of  prayers,  alternately  stand- 
ing, kneeling,  touching  the  floor  with  her  fore- 
head, and  at  one  point  spitting  at  the  Devil ! 

When  the  time  came  for  the  sunset  feast, 
the  cousins  were  as  ready  as  ever,  but  Khudr 
and  Hanifeh  sickened  at  the  sight.  Pale  and 
tearful,  they  crawled  to  a  corner  of  the  divan 
and  cried  themselves  to  sleep,  hugging  the 
broken  doll  between  them. 

The  month  dragged  on,  the  nights  being 
turned  into  day  with  feasting,  and  the  days 
of  fasting  spent  in  preparing  for  the  nights. 
The  family  all  felt  cross  and  Hanifeh  and 
Khudr  were  sick  most  of  the  time. 

"I've  had  my  fill  of  those  children!"  ex- 
claimed Sitt  Habubah,  once  more  seated  be- 


231  Transplanted  Children 

fore  her  lord,  with  her  argileh,  at  the  close  of 
the  sunset  feast.  "Everything  goes  wrong  with 
them.  We  can't  understand  their  language 
and  they  can't  understand  ours.  They  forget 
to  take  off  their  shoes  when  they  come  into 
the  house,  and  catch  cold  when  they  wear  kub- 
kubs.  They  are  always  blowing  into  my  ar- 
gileh, and  they  don't  get  on  with  our  children. 
They  don't  like  our  food,  and  when  they  eat 
it  they  are  sick.  They  cry  all  the  time,  but 
what  more  could  we  do  for  them?" 

Amr  Afendeh  nodded  slowly.  "We  brothers 
have  been  talking  about  it.  They  certainly 
don't  fit  in  here.  I  will  take  them  to-morrow  to 
Miss  Wheeler's  school.  She  can  manage 
them." 

"Anything  to  get  rid  of  them!"  exclaimed 
Sitt  Habubah. 


II 


The  next  day,  Hanifeh  and  Khudr  were 
again  dressed  in  their  best  clothes  and  taken 
in  a  carriage  through  the  narrow  streets  to  the 
heavy  green-painted  gate  that  led  into  Miss? 
Wheeler's  mission  school. 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  232 

They  were  both  pale  and  frightened  when 
Amr  Afendeh  took  them  up  the  stone  steps 
into  the  garden,  bright  with  early  spring 
flowers. 

Miss  Wheeler  met  them  at  the  door-step. 

"My  dear  children,  how  glad  I  am  to  see 
you,"  she  said  in  English,  in  a  gentle  mother 
voice,  kissing  them  both. 

The  pent-up  feelings  of  many  weeks  broke 
forth ;  as  though  by  one  instinct,  both  children 
seized  her  round  the  neck  and  covered  her  with 
kisses. 

"For  shame!"  said  Amr  Afendeh. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Miss  Wheeler;  "I  love 
children." 

She  led  them  across  the  court  into  a  room 
filled  with  pictures  and  home-like  looking 
things,  such  as  the  children's  mother  used  to 
have  about  her. 

After  staying  long  enough  for  the  necessary 
business  arrangements,  Amr  Afendeh  arose 
and  held  out  the  back  of  his  hand  to  each  of 
the  children.  They  kissed  it,  as  they  had  been 
taught  to  do,  and  he  said  good-by. 

Miss  Wheeler  sat  down  in  her  wicker  arm- 
chair and  opened  her  arms  to  the  children. 


233  Transplanted  Children 

They  needed  no  further  invitation  and  both 
climbed  to  her  lap. 

"You're  just  like  people  at  home,"  said 
Hanifeh. 

"You'll  call  me  George,  won't  you?"  said 
Rhudr. 

"I'll  call  you  Georgie,"  answered  Miss 
Wheeler. 

"And  you  have  a  kitty  too  1"  cried  Hanifeh, 
darting  under  the  divan. 

"There  comes  dear  Rudha,  who  will  help 
take  care  of  you,"  said  Miss  Wheeler;  "each 
of  our  big  pupils  takes  care  of  one  or  two  little 
ones." 

Rudha  stood  in  the  doorway,  with  a  long 
white  veil  over  her  head,  hanging  each  side 
of  her  face. 

"Welcome  to  you,"  she  said  shyly.  Her 
voice  was  low  and  gentle;  she  spoke  English 
with  a  sweet  modulation,  and  her  lustrous 
brown  eyes  smiled  upon  the  children  with  the 
same  kind  of  love  that  looked  out  from  Miss 
Wheeler's  quiet  gray  ones. 

"Come  and  wash  your  hands  for  afternoon 
tea,"  said  Rudha. 

Afternoon  tea!    Could  there  be  more  of  a 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  234> 

home  touch!  They  skipped  joyfully  after  her 
into  a  long  room  with  rows  of  water-taps  and 
basins. 

"This  is  where  the  girls  wash,"  said  Rudha. 
"Miss  Wheeler  is  very  particular  about  our 
bathing." 

Hands  washed  and  hair  brushed,  they  were 
taken  back  into  the  sitting-room,  where  as  a 
special  privilege  they  were  invited  to  join  Miss 
Wheeler  and  the  teachers.  They  sat  in  little 
chairs,  one  on  each  side  of  Miss  Wheeler,  and 
had  cambric  tea  and  bread  and  marmalade, 
just  as  they  used  to  have  at  home. 

Rudha  took  them  to  the  school  yard  after 
that,  where  the  white-veiled  girls  were  swing- 
ing, playing  circle  games,  or  tending  the  vege- 
table garden. 

They  clustered  round  the  new  children, 
questioning  them  in  English. 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  doll?"  said  a 
big  girl.  "Let  me  make  a  hood  for  her  and 
cover  the  broken  head,"  and  she  brought  from 
the  house  some  scraps  and  sewing  materials. 

"Come,  Georgie,  let  me  swing  you,"  said 
Rudha,  and  the  delighted  child  found  himself 
swinging  back  and  forth  to  a  sort  of  chant, 


235  Transplanted  Children 

which  one  girl  would  sing,  all  the  others  join- 
ing in  the  refrain:     "Yah!  Yah!" 

They  had  supper  with  the  girls  at  a  long 
table,  plain  fare,  but  eaten  with  thanksgiving 
and  good  cheer. 

"Now  we'll  have  our  evening  hymn.  What 
shall  we  sing?"  asked  Miss  Wheeler. 

A  chorus  of  voices  said,  "Jesus  loves  me." 

"That  is  good,"  said  Miss  Wheeler,  "but 
this  time,  we'll  let  Hanifeh  choose  her  favorite 
hymn.    What  would  you  like  to  sing,  dearie?" 

"I'd  like,  'Where  are  you  going,  my  pretty 
maid?'  "  said  Hanifeh  promptly.  Some  of  the 
children  tittered,  others  looked  shocked. 

"I  mean  some  hymn,  something  you  sang  at 
Sunday-school,"  said  Miss  Wheeler. 

"I  didn't  go  to  school  on  Sundays.  That 
day  we  used  to  go  to  the  Zoo." 

Rudha  and  the  older  girls  looked  at  each 
other  amazed. 

"We'll  sing  'Jesus  loves  me,' "  said  Miss 
Wheeler  quickly  to  divert  attention.  "Don't 
you  know  that?" 

"No,  I  never  heard  it,"  said  Hanifeh  simply. 

Miss  Wheeler  played  the  piano  and  the  chil- 
dren sang  heartily.     After  the  second  verse, 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  236 

Hanifeh  and  George  found  themselves  join- 
ing with  the  rest  of  the  children  in  the  chorus : 
"Yes,  Jesus  loves  me." 

"Now  it's  time  to  go  to  bed,"  said  Miss 
Wheeler  to  the  two  children.  "Come  this  way ; 
I  have  put  two  cribs  for  you  right  here  in  my 
room — I  can't  put  such  babies  into  the  dormi- 
tory!" she  added  to  herself. 

"Oh,  we  haven't  slept  in  cribs  since  we  left 
mamma,"  exclaimed  Hanifeh. 

"Now  we'll  say  our  evening  prayers,"  said 
Miss  Wheeler. 

"Do  you  mean  the  way  Sit-ty  does?  I  can 
show  you  how  she  goes !"  cried  George. 

"No,  dear,"  said  Miss  Wheeler,  "you  are 
both  going  to  kneel  down  here  at  my  knees 
and  ask  dear  God  to  bless  you." 

"We  don't  know  how,"  faltered  Hanifeh 
awestruck;  "you'd  better  excuse  us." 

"You  poor  little  heathen  from  Christian 
England!"  murmured  Miss  Wheeler  under  her 
breath.  Then  to  the  children,  "This  time,  I'll 
kneel  down  with  you  and  say  the  words  for 

you." 

She  knelt  before  the  white  crib,  an  arm 
around  each  child. 


237  Transplanted  Children 

"Dear  Jesus,  who  used  to  be  a  little  boy, 
take  care  of  little  George  and  Hanif  eh  to-night 
and  may  they  learn  to  love  thee,  and  bless 
mama  so  far  away,  and  bless  Rudha  and  the 
schoolgirls  and  the  teachers " 

"And  bless  the  kitty,"  prompted  George. 

"Yes,  God  will  take  care  of  the  kitty,"  an- 
swered Miss  Wheeler  soberly. 

The  good-night  kisses  left  Miss  Wheeler's 
hair  disheveled.  "I'm  afraid  they  will  get  to 
love  me  more  than  they  love  their  mother," 
she  thought,  while  something  caught  at  her 
throat. 

The  next  day,  she  made  a  call  on  the  house- 
hold of  Amr  Af endeh. 

"Have  you  a  picture  of  the  mother  of  Hani- 
feh  and  Khudr?"  she  asked  casually. 

"Why,  yes,  our  poor  Abd- Allah  sent  it  to 
us  when  he  betrothed  her  and  it  has  been 
thrown  aside  somewhere."  After  a  search 
among  tightly  crammed  bureau-drawers,  the 
photograph  was  found. 

Miss  Wheeler  gazed  at  the  vapid  face,  the 
conspicuous  arrangement  of  hair.  "Do  you 
care  for  this?  May  I  take  it  to  the  children?" 
she  asked. 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  238 

"Oh,  we  don't  want  it;  the  Kurd  take  it!" 
said  Sitt  Habubah. 

Miss  Wheeler  turned  the  picture  over  and 
read:  "Gladys  Jenkins,  21  Hawthorne  Road, 
Heathcote." 

That  evening,  when  the  children  went  to  bed, 
Miss  Wheeler  produced  the  photograph.  "Do 
you  know  who  this  is?"  she  asked. 

"Why,  it's  mama!"  they  exclaimed. 

"She  came  for  you  to  kiss  her  good-night," 
said  Miss  Wheeler. 

A  moist  kiss  was  printed  upon  the  picture 
by  each  little  mouth.  This  became  the  nightly 
custom. 

That  evening,  Miss  Wheeler  wrote  a  letter 
to  Mrs.  Gladys  Jenkins  Hashim,  21  Haw- 
thorne Road,  Heathcote. 

Happy  weeks  flew  by.  Hanifeh  and 
George,  seated  on  benches  with  the  infant  class, 
were  learning  to  read  from  the  primer,  and 
could  recite  many  sweet  Bible  verses  both  in 
English  and  Arabic.  They  could  tell  a  num- 
ber of  beautiful  and  wonderful  stories  about 
Jesus  and  they  had  gained  quite  a  repertoire 
of  hymns,  from  which  they  could  call  for 
their  favorites  at  evening  prayers.     Inciden- 


239  Transplanted  Children 

tally  they  had  unlearned  some  spicy  profanity 
that  they  had  picked  up  from  their  cousins. 

One  evening,  when  they  had  kissed  their 
mother's  picture  good  night,  Miss  Wheeler 
said,  "I  have  something  beautiful  to  tell  you. 
Dear  mama  is  coming  on  the  steamer  to- 
morrow morning !" 

"Is  it  God  who's  bringing  her?"  asked 
George. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  said  Miss  Wheeler.  "How 
much  we  shall  thank  him!" 

At  sunrise  the  next  morning,  the  usual  hour 
for  the  arrival  of  steamers,  Miss  Wheeler  went 
to  the  landing  to  meet  Gladys  Hashim.  The 
schoolgirls  waited  in  a  buzz  of  excitement, 
peering  over  the  garden  wall  down  into  the 
street.  It  was  an  incongruous  pair  that  finally 
alighted  at  the  gate,  Miss  Wheeler  in  her 
quiet  gray  suit  and  the  dashing-looking  stran- 
ger in  the  extreme  of  showy  fashion. 

Hanifeh  and  George  rushed  down  the  steps 
and  threw  themselves  into  their  mother's  arms. 
Gladys  gathered  them  to  her  heart,  sobbing, 
"I  didn't  think  I'd  ever  see  you  again." 

It  was  a  day  of  tearful  joy.  The  three 
could  not  bear  each  other  out  of  their  sight. 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  240 

Every  few  minutes  one  or  the  other  of  the 
children  would  run  across  the  room  and  seize 
their  mother  around  the  neck,  while  the  elabo- 
rate coiffure  was  disarranged  and  forgotten. 

"I  will  go  to-day  to  see  the  Hashim 
brothers,"  said  Miss  Wheeler.  "I  am  not  go- 
ing to  send  the  children  away  by  the  same  kind 
of  a  trick  which  brought  them  here.  They 
shall  be  given  back  to  their  mother  in  a  per- 
fectly open  way." 

She  returned  after  a  long  absence,  looking 
sad.  "They  will  not  hear  of  it,"  she  said;  "we 
shall  need  patience."  They  prayed  about  it 
that  night  at  family  prayers  with  the  girls 
and  beside  the  white  cribs.  Miss  Wheeler  had 
a  way  of  praying  about  everything  and  a  way 
of  waiting  afterward  for  the  answer,  and  there 
was  a  marvelous  sequence  which  had  gradu- 
ally become  familiar  to  the  girls,  that  the  things 
Miss  Wheeler  asked  for  by  and  by  came  to 
pass.  Gladys  Hashim  listened  in  wonder. 
This  missionary  woman  talked  to  God  as 
though  he  were  in  the  next  room  and  she 
seemed  quite  indifferent  as  to  how  he  would 
answer,  for  the  certainty  that  he  would  bring 
the  right  thing  to  pass  was  absolute  with  her. 


241  Transplanted  Children 

Miss  Wheeler  did  not  embarrass  Gladys  by 
asking  her  to  choose  a  hymn,  but  a  hymn-book 
was  handed  to  her,  and  as  the  sweet  words 
floated  upward  from  the  circle  of  white-veiled 
girls,  Gladys  found  the  music  blurred  before 
her,  and,  once  and  again,  heavy  tears  splashed 
down  upon  the  page. 

"I  incline  to  take  you  with  me  to  see  the 
Hashims,"  said  Miss  Wheeler  the  next  morn- 
ing; "it  may  emphasize  the  justice  of  your 
claim." 

"I  couldn't  stand  seeing  that  Selim  again," 
exclaimed  Gladys;  "he  stole  away  my  chil- 
dren!" 

"God  can  help  you  do  what  you  can't  do 
alone,"  said  Miss  Wheeler  softly. 

A  quick  answer  rose  to  Gladys'  lips  and 
stopped  there.    "I'll  go  with  you,"  she  said. 

As  the  fast  of  Ramadan  was  now  past  and 
the  evening  feasts  would  be  no  longer  an 
obstacle,  Miss  Wheeler  and  Gladys  went  to 
call  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  brothers 
would  be  home  from  business.  The  door  was 
opened  by  the  bare-footed  maid,  with  skirt 
hitched  up  as  usual  over  the  full  Turkish 
trousers  and  tucked  into  her  girdle,  but  with 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  242 

her  face  carefully  veiled.  She  ushered  them 
at  once  into  the  reception-room,  which  she 
would  not  have  done  with  Moslem  ladies,  as 
the  three  gentlemen  were  seated  there  re- 
freshing themselves  with  their  cigarets. 

Selim  Afendeh  flashed  a  quick  glance  at 
Gladys  and  insolently  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke 
towards  her.  "I  see  you  had  to  take  an  ocean 
voyage  to  see  me  again,"  he  remarked. 

Gladys  flushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  but 
Miss  Wheeler  diverted  attention  by  introduc- 
ing her  to  Af  endehs  Amr  and  Husein. 

"This  is  your  sister-in-law,  Gladys,"  she  said 
simply.  They  bowed  and  shook  hands  with 
Oriental  grace. 

"May  we  see  the  ladies?"  asked  Miss 
Wheeler. 

"Call  the  harim!"  said  Amr  Afendeh  to  the 
maid,  who  was  still  peeking  in  at  the  door- way, 
with  her  bare  shins  and  veiled  face. 

In  a  few  moments,  Sitt  Habubah  appeared 
in  her  usual  pink  flowered  wrapper,  followed 
by  her  sisters-in-law,  carrying  their  babies 
straddling  on  their  hips.  After  much  salaam- 
ing, Sitt  Habubah  asked  the  ladies,  "What  will 
you  have,  cigarets  or  argilehs?" 


243  Transplanted  Children 

"We  are  satisfied  with  your  presence,"  said 
Miss  Wheeler. 

"And  you  drink  no  smoke  at  all?  Shu 
haida!" 

As  the  guests  remained  unpersuaded,  the 
hostesses  settled  down  to  encourage  the  con- 
versational muse  with  the  bubbling  of  their  ar- 
gilehs.  The  children,  who  were  giggling  be- 
hind the  maid  in  the  court,  began  to  stream  into 
the  drawing-room  and  finger  Gladys*  clothes 
and  card-case. 

"W'low!"  cried  Amr  Afendeh  as  usual,  "do 
you  want  Miss  Wheeler  to  think  you  are  wild 
beasts?" 

"God  bless  them  all,"  said  Miss  Wheeler, 
"but  praise  to  his  name,  it  seems  to  me  you 
have  enough  children  in  the  house,  and  could 
spare  Hanifeh  and  Khudr  to  go  back  to  their 
mother." 

"Children  are  the  blessing  of  the  Lord," 
said  Amr  Afendeh  piously;  "never  would  it 
be  possible  for  us  to  send  away  our  brother's 
children.  Our  house  is  open;  we  are  ready 
to  receive  Sitt  Gladys  into  our  harim;  let  her 
assume  the  izar  on  the  street  like  our  ladies 
and  she  may  be  one  of  us." 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  244 

Gladys  shuddered.  "Oh,  I  couldn't  breathe 
through  all  that  covering.    I'd  smother!" 

Fortunately,  candied  apricots  and  sherbet 
made  a  digression,  and  Miss  Wheeler  turned 
the  conversation  into  more  general  topics. 
They  parted  on  pleasant  terms,  but  no  nearer 
a  settlement  than  before. 

"They'll  never  let  the  children  go,"  moaned 
Gladys  on  the  way  home;  "I  can  run  away 
with  them,  as  Selim  did." 

"Not  while  you  are  in  my  home,"  said  Miss 
Wheeler,  kindly  but  firmly. 

Again  that  evening,  she  prayed  as  before. 

Gladys  came  to  have  a  very  heavy  heart  as 
the  weeks  went  by  and  Miss  Wheeler  returned 
from  her  periodic  visits  to  the  brothers  unsuc- 
cessful. 

The  older  girls  gathered  round  Gladys  on 
the  playground  with  tender-hearted  sympathy 
over  her  grief.  Everything  about  her  was  in- 
teresting to  them,  her  clothes,  her  blooming 
complexion,  her  home  in  the  far-away  land. 
They  plied  her  with  questions,  with  their  pretty 
foreign  accent.    She  in  turn  questioned  them. 

"Are  you  girls  all  from  Moslem  homes?" 

"Yes,"  they  said,  "either  Moslem  or  Druse." 


245  Transplanted  Children 

"What  is  Druse?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  that's  another  sect  of  Moslems,"  they 
answered. 

"But  you  are  not  like  those  people  at  the 
Hashim  house,"  said  Gladys,  "and  all  these 
little  schoolgirls  are  not  the  remotest  bit  like  * 
those  wild  children." 

"That  is  because  Miss  Wheeler  has  taught 
us,"  said  Rudha  loyally.  "Miss  Wheeler  is  an 
angel." 

"But  how  did  your  parents  come  to  send 
you  to  the  school?"  asked  Gladys. 

"Why,  they  saw  other  children  who  had 
been  to  the  school  and  when  they  realized  how 
much  better  they  behaved  and  how  well  they 
could  read  and  write  and  sew,  besides  many 
other  things,  they  wanted  their  daughters  to 
be  taught  too." 

"What  makes  you  love  Miss  Wheeler  so 
much?"  she  asked,  to  see  what  they  would  say. 

She  was  taken  aback  by  Rudha's  answer: 
"I  think  it  is  because  she  is  like  the  Lord 
Jesus." 

Gladys  felt  an  old  resentment  rising  in  her. 
"What  do  you  care  about  Jesus?  Aren't  you 
Moslems  I" 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  246 

A  shocked  expression  passed  over  all  their 
faces.  "Don't  you  love  the  Lord  Jesus?"  they 
asked  almost  with  one  voice. 

Gladys  turned  upon  her  heel  and  went  into 
the  house. 

The  girls  looked  at  each  other  with  tears 
in  their  eyes. 

"Let's  go  and  ask  Miss  Wheeler  about  it," 
said  Rudha.  They  found  their  teacher  in  her 
flower-garden. 

"Miss  Wheeler,"  they  asked,  "isn't  every- 
body in  England  a  Christian?" 

Miss  Wheeler  was  startled  and  a  great  pain 
seized  her  heart.    How  could  she  answer  them? 

"Dear  girls,  I  wish  they  were  all  Christians, 
but  I  am  sorry  to  say  they  are  not — all." 

"We  thought  they  were  all  like  you  teach- 
ers," Amineh  said  sadly,  "but  we've  been  talk- 
ing with  the  mother  of  the  little  children," 
speaking  of  her  by  the  title  they  had  all  given 
her,  "and  we  find,"  her  voice  dropped,  "she 
doesn't  love  the  Lord  Jesus!" 

"What  can  we  do  about  it?"  asked  Rudha. 

"What  have  you  learned  to  do  about  diffi- 
culties?" said  Miss  Wheeler. 

"We'll  go  and  think  about  it,"  said  Amineh. 


247  Transplanted  Children 

Later  on,  they  came  back  to  Miss  Wheeler. 

"We've  decided  what  we're  going  to  do," 
said  Rudha.  "We  older  girls  are  going  to  have 
a  little  prayer-meeting  every  day  at  the  noon 
recess  and  pray  that  God  will  open  the  heart 
of  the  mother  of  the  little  children  and  teach 
her  to  love  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

More  weeks  dragged  slowly  by.  An  inde- 
scribable something  was  borne  in  upon  Gladys. 
It  came  to  her  in  the  morning  when  she  bent 
her  head  with  the  girls  for  a  blessing  on  their 
simple  breakfast;  it  came  to  her  in  the  prattle 
of  her  own  children  and  their  long  recitals  of 
Bible  stories;  it  came  again  at  the  evening 
prayer,  with  the  ever-repeated  petitions  for  her 
and  her  children ;  and  most  of  all,  it  came  when 
her  children  of  their  own  accord  knelt  at  her 
knee  at  bedtime. 

One  day  Miss  Wheeler  returned  from  her 
oft-repeated  visit  to  the  Hashim  brothers  with 
a  radiant  face. 

"Quick!"  she  said  to  Gladys,  "they  say  you 
can  go !  They  say  I  have  worn  them  out  and 
they  can't  stand  it  any  longer!  There  is  a 
steamer  leaving  at  noon  to-morrow.  Get  ready 
in  a  hurry  and  we'll  take  you  down." 


Where  East  and  West  Meet  248 

As  one  in  a  dream  Gladys  threw  her  clothes 
and  her  children's  into  her  trunk.  There  was 
much  exchange  of  affectionate  farewells  with 
the  girls,  a  tearful  thanksgiving  at  prayers 
after  the  long  beseeching,  a  sleepless  night, 
and  the  next  morning,  Gladys  and  the  children, 
Miss  Wheeler  and  her  associate  teacher,  all 
went  down  to  the  steamer. 

Once  on  deck,  the  noise  and  bustle  of  a  jour- 
ney about  her,  she  could  finally  realize  that 
she  and  her  children  were  free ! 

Miss  Wheeler  put  an  arm  about  her  waist. 
"Come  away  with  me,"  she  said,  "behind  the 
pilot-house;  I  want  to  tell  you  something." 

There  in  that  quiet  spot,  both  gazing  down 
through  the  peerless  blue  of  the  water,  she  told 
Gladys  how  the  dear  circle  of  girls  had  been 
praying  every  noon  day  after  day  for  her,  that 
she  might  come  to  love  the  Lord  Jesus. 

Gladys  was  choked  with  sobs. 

"Now  we  must  leave  you,"  she  said;  "the 
visitors'  bell  is  ringing." 

Hanifeh  and  George  ran  to  Miss  Wheeler 
and  clung  to  her  neck. 

"How  can  we  thank  you  enough!"  said 
Gladys. 


249  Transplanted  Children 

The  visitors  were  hurried  down  the  gang- 
way and  the  little  boat  speedily  carried  them 
farther  and  farther  away.  Gladys,  with  her 
children  beside  her,  looked  over  the  shining 
blue  of  the  bay,  on  the  one  hand  to  the  opal- 
tinted  range  of  Lebanon,  on  the  other  to  the 
many-colored  houses  of  the  city,  interspersed 
with  the  green  of  gardens  and  palms. 

Up  in  the  most  thickly-built  section,  she 
could  locate  the  school,  so  full  of  new  and  liv- 
ing experiences  for  her.  While  she  gazed,  the 
ship's  signal  was  given  for  the  change  of 
watch,  and  she  counted,  eight  bells!  noon! 
And  across  the  water,  she  could  see,  in  imagi- 
nation, the  white-veiled  schoolgirls  coming  out 
of  their  classes  for  the  noon  recess,  and  out 
from  among  them  separated  that  special  group 
who  went  by  themselves  into  a  corner  of  the 
garden  apart;  and  in  the  tremulous  light  hov- 
ering over  the  city  Gladys  seemed  to  see  rising 
to  heaven  the  prayer  for  her. 


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